I wanted to go to Artorias’ grave, lie down and wait for Alvina to report back what she’d found out.

I lasted about a half an hour before I had to get up again. Apparently, changing bodies hadn’t fixed either my need for stimulation or my inability to sit still.

It was hard to determine how wide the clearing actually was. Walking across it, back and forth, didn’t really do me much good- I had a poor at best idea of how my current size stacked up to my original size, let alone either imperial or metric measurements. Actually, come to think of it, had units of measurement ever been mentioned in Dark Souls? I mean, they had to have SOME sort of standard, but it hadn’t exactly come up at any point that I could remember…

I shook my head. That wasn’t really important.

Having exhausted the entertainment value of measuring the clearing in Sif-lengths, measurements that I had the sneaking suspicion kept shifting with the fog, I’d turned to the other things within the clearing that might divert me. More specifically, the rings that I’d manage to fit on my paws.

The Covenant of Artorias. A tiny little ring, gold-banded, with a tiny blue gem set in a little gold circle. It looked almost comical on my gigantic paw, and I had to lean my head close to make it out through my… fur. Hrm. Regardless, this is the ring that protects the player when they descend into the Abyss in New Londo to battle the Four Kings. As far as the game goes, it doesn’t have any other purpose, and is simply left sitting in the player’s inventory afterwards. The interesting part is the lore. From what I remember, this ring was a symbol of some sort of pact with the creatures of the Abyss, which is fair enough… but...

Artorias fell in Oolacile- actually, right where his gravestone is, so… probably within a few meters of where I’m standing right now, which is a weird thought. The ring ends up here, because the player receives it after defeating Sif, but… where did it come from in the first place? It states that he made a “covenant” with the creatures of the Abyss, but which creatures? Manos? The general creatures of the Dark are mindless, the Dark given form. He had to have made a deal with SOMETHING for the lore blurb to be any sort of correct, but there’s nothing in the Abyss to MAKE deals with. Though, that… did Artorias know Manos? I mean, there was some implication that the residents of Oolacile did something pretty awful to Manos, if I wasn’t misremembering someone’s headcanon. Maybe Artorias came to put Manos down after he went mad, let his guard down and fell to the Abyss? I made a frustrated growl. I didn’t know enough to really say what happened in Oolacile. Maybe I could make an Undead go back in time through the portal to figure things out, but even then it’d be figuring things out belatedly, and I didn’t exactly want to go back myself and risk running into past actual-Sif, I had no clue what that’d do to the timeline.

I turned my attention to the other ring, the Hornet ring. Slightly more ornate than the Covenant ring, though it’s obviously far more practical than your average piece of jewelry, with the plain metal circle carved with the image of a hornet on a silverish band. No actual jewels, but then, at least half of all Dark Souls rings don’t have gems anyhow. I suppose that, in a world where a high-ranking knight might commission a piece of magic equipment like this and some are even churned out in large numbers (the Cloranthy ring most likely, definitely some of the Faith-based rings), it would make sense that they were designed much like practical equipment is, especially the ring of one of the Four Knights of Gwyn. It’s meant to boost the critical attacks of the wearer, but I’m not sure how that crosses over from the game into reality.

Four knights, four kings, four Lordsouls… need to keep an eye on that. Sympathetic magic with the number, perhaps, or maybe it’s considered a holy number based on the fact that… no, no, the fourth Lordsoul was the Dark Soul, stolen by the Furtive Pygmy. There’d be no reason for the gods to advertise the fact that they’d been outsmarted before their reigns even began. So, probably sympathetic magic, then.

What was especially odd was that the rings… FELT like something. When I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could feel something from them, a tingling sort of energy that made my fur stand on end. I… didn’t know how, but if I had to take a guess, I’d thing that I was feeling the magic impregnated into the metal. I could focus on one or the other, honing in with this sixth sense. It was strange, unnerving, memories being brought to the forefront of my mind uncalled as if the magic had brought them forward to express itself. Images of underground rivers, still cave pools, the deepest black of night from the Covenant, contrasted with memories of clashing metal and swinging swords from the Hornet. The memories were mine, from movies or places I’d been, and I guessed that this was how my mind was interpreting the feelings I was getting from the little pieces of enchanted metal.

And… that was another avenue of entertainment exhausted. I glanced around the clearing, shifting back and forth on my paws, my, eh, tail twitching. Weapons made a pincushion of the grass under my paws, many rusted through, the gravestone standing as solemn and unchanged as it had when I’d woken up here. My muzzle twitched as I realized how utterly dull it must have been to wait here for centuries, guarding a stone. Sif must’ve been absolutely ecstatic when someone came to try and kill her, it definitely would have broken up the monotony.

It’s just now that it occurs to me that, going by what I know, time in the Dark Souls universe moves forward on a purely event-based status focused around the actions of the Chosen Undead towards their eventual endgame goal of becoming a log of firewood. And given how the undead that attacked me was definitely coming after the Covenant, I suspected that time might not even pass unless I made them rest at a bonfire…? How did any of this even work, in any position but the player’s? Did I experience time passing when Undead rested at the bonfire, or was it like time dilation for only the one actually sitting at the bonfire and staring into its flames?

And that… I perked. Actually, come to think of it, that was something I could just… go find out. There were two bonfires in Darkroot Garden that I could remember, the secret one next to the Artorias’ Crest door and the other in the middle of the passage to the Valley of Drakes. Figuring out whether it worked for me as it worked for the Undead was as simple as just walking up to a bonfire and trying to rest at it. The… primary problem was actually reaching one bonfire or the other.

The secret bonfire was probably the easiest for me to actually reach, but the thing was sitting on the edge of a cliff inside a ruin that I had doubts I could easily fit into- not to mention, I’d somehow have to figure out a way to get around to it without wrecking the place where Alvina held court. I suppose I could just jump the ravine, if I really needed to, but that didn’t solve the problem of getting through the actual woods on the other side without knocking half of it down.

Of course, the other option was to sweep around, somehow get down to where the hydra was, then move through the place with all the crystal golems and approach the passageway bonfire from that direction. Though, come to think of it, I didn’t know if the Undead I’d fought had defeated the Black Knight in the passage. Hell, I didn’t know if they’d fought the HYDRA, and, no offense, if they couldn’t beat Sif after multiple attempts, I wasn’t sure they’d be able to handle the big lizard.

I mean, assuming that not-me-Sif had actually fought like in-game Sif. I didn’t actually know if she’d really fought in real life like she fought in the game. Rather hope she didn’t, that was somewhat embarrassing. Though… maybe a real life Sif using the same fighting style would be a lot more intimidating and capable than she was in the game? I had no idea, and nothing to compare it to.

There were… other things, as well. I could feel magic. I think that was what had happened when I focused on the rings, I was actually feeling the spellwork woven with their metal, into the physical objects. I was curious, very curious, about what a bonfire would like, a tiny ember of the dying First Flame.

That, and, to be honest, it was something that I didn’t exactly have a choice about. In the long run, the First Flame WAS dying, which meant that someone had to do something about it. Really, I could just hand (paw?) the Covenant of Artorias to a decently strong Undead, reinforce the rhetoric of Kingseeker Frampt, then send them off to toddle into the fire.

But that didn’t solve anything. The Cycle of the First Flame, the fading of the Age of Fire, would happen one way or the other. If the Undead fed themselves to the Flame, it did nothing about the underlying cause of the decline of the world. Lordran and the world surrounding it would fall to the edge of the Dark, again and again forever, until one day there was nothing left but ash with everything that could burn cast into the flames for just a little more warmth. It was simply how the world was designed, how the Flame worked, it just was.

So, I had to break the Cycle somehow. Somehow. After all, I didn’t want to be trapped in a world constantly clinging to life by its fingertips while its strength wanes, Cycle after Cycle. It was the sort of crushing, despairing, nihilistic thing that made me feel empty when I’d still had two legs. Except, here, I could actually do something about it. I hoped.

And the first step in that process was going to a bonfire and trying to feel it out.

“LEAVE, wolf! This is not your place!”

It turned out that it hadn’t been as easy as I’d been imagining, because of course it wasn’t. It turned out that, instead of just having the problem of fitting inside openings and small spaces as I’d anticipated, I’d somehow forgotten that there were actually enemies. Enemies that, apparently, could talk perfectly fine despite being giant cats.

Well… giant relative to the size of a normal Undead, anyway. The big panther-like things were only half my own height, and there were only two of them. A threat they might have been to the typical knight, but… I wasn’t sure if they qualified as such to me, unless there were four or five more waiting just out of sight to mob me the moment their fellows attacked.

I could shatter stone with an offhand swing of my paw. To be perfectly honest, I was now a little afraid that I had no other mode than ‘highly lethal’.

Careful, careful, don’t slur… “I sh-” Dammit “Simply… wish to move by in pea- without conflict.”

The cat that had spoken to me hissed and spat, and I had to prevent the edge of my mouth twitching in disgust at the gesture. The second cat had moved around to my left, creeping towards the limit of my vision in an attempt to gain an advantage.

“Mother Alvina gave us our duty, to let none pass- her fellow you may be, Grey Wolf, but we were not told to allow you by!”

Mother-? Huh. I’d thought Alvina must have had descendants, what with the extreme distance of time between the fall of Artorias and the events of Dark Souls, but having the giant cats be said descendants? I actually felt a little bad about killing them in the games, now. Also meant that I… probably couldn’t kill them now, not without pissing off an ally I sorely needed. I growled at the one before me, something that came rather naturally, disturbing as it was.

Suppose Alvina never expected Sif to leave Artorias’ grave. I wasn’t sure if I should take that as an insult towards Sif, Alvina never expecting her to move on or do anything actually proactive with the rest of her life, or some sort of complement on Sif’s honour for refusing to abandon the resting place of her fallen adopted family member. On top of that, she apparently never expected me to actually go out and do anything else without her input, if she hadn’t sent a courier along to explain things.

“I have no quarrel with you, and even conversh-conversed with Alvina not long ago. Do you really believe that Alvina would be content to remain here as the dregsh of the Age of Fire grow dimmer with each passing day?”

The cat’s eyes flicked to the side. “She has told us nothing of discontent. We have heard naught from her or her Hunters in… quite some time.” Alright, deep breath, take it slow.

“Then go! S… send your ally to ssspeak with her, or cease w… waSTing my time and hers!”

They bared their fangs, but didn’t hiss again, narrowing their slitted eyes as they considered my words. I tensed my muscles slightly, ready to spring away if they decided to attack me, either to dash past or retreat back towards Artorias’ grave. A bit of that tension faded as the cat across from me raised their ears back up, lips concealing their fangs as they looked thoughtful. They considered a moment more, then their eyes flicked to their companion, who stopped trying to sneak around behind me, turned, and bounded off in the direction of the copse where Alvina held court.

As a gesture of good will, or at least the closest I could think to get to one, I backed off down towards the cliff to give the cat some space. Given how their fur flattened and they sat down, I think they appreciated the gesture, though they didn’t actually indicate that much with their words. Guess that’d be too much to hope for.

You know what true awkward is? Eyeing someone who would rather you be dead across a clearing while being perfectly aware of the fact that it would take a momentary effort to powderize their skeleton. I mean, I could appreciate the effort they were putting in with the glares and the haughty body language, but it just really wasn’t landing like they clearly wanted it to. Honestly, I’d probably call it cute, in another set of circumstances.

Both of our heads jerked to the side as we heard the same noise, ears angling towards it without my direct input, which was a… strange sensation. What was just as strange was that I heard the other cat coming long before I saw them leap from atop the divider that sectioned this area from the area with the mushroom people. Better senses are just a package that comes with being wolfy, I suppose.

The second cat gave me an uncomfortable look, clearly not precisely enthused by what they’d heard from Alvina. After a moment of staring that just about reached the level of awkwardness that we’d hit before they arrived, they turned their attention back to their fellow.

“Mother Alvina has directed that we allow the Grey Wolf past-”

“And thou art not to interfere with her again.”

I twitched in surprise as Alvina herself coalesced into being from the mist atop the rock wall, tail flicking, eyes observing me in something between amusement and curiosity. The cats bowed their heads together, respectfully. She gave them a glance, then turned her head back to me.

“True, I am surprised by thy sudden willingness to step out of thy home. Not typical, given thy reactionary nature, and I find myself more and more curious about what sort of dream or vision brought this about.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I wasn’t exactly sure whether Alvina could detect lies, or if she’d be able to tell that I was fudging the truth or by how much. I mean, I could just say that I had a vision of the Dark Lord ending, where the Chosen Undead chooses to let the fire die and, in doing so, becomes the Lord of the Dark. Alternatively, I could also say that I had a vision of the Usurp ending of Dark Souls three, where the Chosen Ash chose to take the fire into themselves and bring in the dawn of a new Age. Before I could even answer, though, Alvina waved a paw.

“Never the mind. Certainly, you shall tell us once done and won- thou were’t never one for hesitance. Or discussing thy plans with thy allies.” The fur around her eyes shifted as she grinned, showing a mouthful of little fangs. “I shall be interested to know the why’s and wherefores, when you deign to discuss it… but until then, my Hunters hunt amongst the god’s halls in far-away Anor Londo, and I keep my promise.”

She waved a paw dismissively, then vanished into white mist that blended with the fog of Darkroot Garden. The cats growled at me, once, then moved aside, back up to the raised area they jumped down from. I nodded respectfully, then moved past.

There were two ways to get to the bonfire in the passage to the Valley of Drakes that I remembered. The first was to swing wide around through the woods and come at it from the direction of the Artorias Crest door, which rather defeated the purpose of the exercise. If I could make it through the door, then I might as well visit the bonfire behind the illusionary wall. The second was to descend down the ladders into the Hydra area, hang a right, go through the crystal golems and take the trail from there.

I was going to do neither.

The average Chosen Undead was limited by a number of factors, but most particularly, they were limited by their size, their lack of a true jump and fall damage. All of these things came together to ensure that the player wouldn’t try tricky jumps and falls that might skip portions of the game. I, on the other hand, was huge, could jump very high and could probably fall all the way to the Hydra from here without much more than a potential injury. Thus, I was going to leap from the little bridge up to the forest plateau, skirt the edge of the woods, then jump back down onto the path. Easy.

I handled the first jump without a single problem. The ledge above the bridge only came up to my shoulders, and I didn’t even need to do any sort of dangerous little hop to get up there. Really, I just put my paws on top and climbed over. Dark Souls was so much easier when you were the approximate size and height of a double decker bus. Off to my right, I caught a glimpse of one of Alvina’s group watching me from between the trees, something like awe on their face.

I had at least expected the treants, or whatever those evil bush things were, to make themselves a problem for me as I moved through. When the first attacked, it came from the forest, leaping at me from the undergrowth- but, I’d been anticipating it. The wooden whip smacked against my fur, but I barely even felt the impact, my thick coat acting like armour and the actual hit feeling like nothing more than the flick of a weak rubber band. I backhanded the thing with a paw, sending it hurtling into the forest and crashing into- and through- a tree.

I stared after it with some surprise. Whoops. Hadn’t really meant to put that much into it.

The rest of them revealed themselves from the undergrowth, but instead of attacking, their bush-like heads were just turned to me. Then they turned towards where their shattered comrade was lying on the floor. Finally, they all turned inwards toward eachother in a huddle, before, one by one, they melted back into the trees.

I blinked, surprise increasing by a bit. I’d… expected to have to fight the things, even if they’d have been naught more than a momentary annoyance, but they’d just decided to run instead? Not that I was complaining, it was one less thing to deal with and I didn’t want to have to be settled with the annoyance of tossing them around until they finally gave up (if they ever did), but it was still weird to realize that the monsters I’d gotten pretty use to murdering without really thinking about it in DS actually were capable of something resembling reason.

When I actually got to the place where the corpse wearing the Eastern armour set lay, the bushes there… there was actually one more than there was in the games, and they were all huddled around it as it seemed to make gestures with its branches. Were they… speaking with eachother? I perked my ears, but I couldn’t hear any sounds from them other than the creaking of wood and the rustling of leaves. Maybe that was their language? Still, when they noticed that I was there, they withdrew to the side as one, watching me carefully.

I hesitated, not used to moving through with only token resistance, then nodded to them and moved by. They didn’t reciprocate, simply watching me as I moved to the edge of the cliff and looked over.

As I’d anticipated, I could see the path below me in the semi-dark, and could even see past that to where it wound serpentine down the cliff. The actual entrance to the passageway was all the way at the bottom, on the lowest path. With just a tinge of nervousness, I leaned out and looked past the path, to where it dropped off to a… huh. Wasn’t that the Valley of Drakes bridge, way down there? I could even see the thick, heavy gates that kept the water in the New Londo Ruins, and the corpse to one side on a cylindrical tower. I could… probably survive the fall, now that I thought about it, as long as I landed on the bridge and didn’t go right into the chasm, but that didn’t make me like heights any more than I already disliked them.

The little hop down to the path was simplicity itself, of course. Much like the bridge to plateau climb, the distance between the plateau and the path was about up to my head, and the path was wide enough that I could fit all four paws on it.

Turning, on the other hand, would be a bit of a pain.

I huffed into the passage.

Making my way down the path to get here had been… a bit risky. Perhaps more than a bit, given how many times my paws had nearly slid out from under me thanks to slippery plant life or scree scattered on the ledges. This wasn’t the garbage a Chosen Undead had to deal with. Still, I’d made it here without falling to my death, which was a pretty good performance if I do say so myself. I’d even managed to maneuver myself on the bit of ledge just before the entrance so I could actually have a look at it.

The problem, of course, was that I could fit my head in… and nothing else.

My vague memories of playing Dark Souls several times through years back had me recalling the entrance here, the elevator beyond, how to get here, even the presence of a bonfire and a Black Knight. They had not, however, informed me that the passage was a tiny little hole in the rock wall that could fit a Black Knight without real stooping and an Undead with ease, but was roughly comparable in size to how a dinner plate would be to my original form. This wouldn’t do in the slightest.

“Thish ishn’t how I planned thish going.”

My ears perked as I heard the shifting of metal just after my muttered comment echoed down the little cave. And then I panicked a little as I heard clanking footsteps coming this way, which could only mean one thing: for SOME REASON, the Black Knight taking up residence here had decided that my muttering was something they needed to investigate, and was now coming. Right here.

I was big. I was strong. I was pretty damn scary, to be honest. The general mooks of the Dark Souls world were essentially just as much a threat as puppets made out of twigs to me, and I could snap them in half without much more than cursory attention. Black Knights, on the other hand? They were the godsdamned elite of Gwyn’s Silver Knight forces, the demon slayers, knights that had survived Gwyn stuffing himself into the Kiln of the First Flame at point-blank range and came away with their armour a different colour. Or was that from demon-slaying? Whatever. If there was anything that could kill me, I was pretty damn certain it was the gigantic elite demigod soldier that had been around since the dawn of the Age of Flame.

The problem was that… I had nowhere to go fast. Backing up the trail would be an involved process that I would have to take carefully if I didn’t want to go plummeting into the Valley of the Drakes, and then immediately have to fight about four or so of said drakes. I couldn’t leap down to the bridge, because that’d hurt like hell and I wasn’t sure how injured I’d be afterwards- plus, y’know, drakes. And it was in the middle of this thought process that the Knight themselves walked out, stopped on the ledge, saw me… and knelt.

“Lady Sif.” The voice, distinctly feminine, echoed inside their helmet.

I blinked. That, uh, that wasn’t what I was expecting, not in the slightest. Though, I… suppose it made some sort of sense? If Artorias was a close friend of Ornstein who was the head of Gwyn’s knights, and this Black Knight had been around since the very beginning, then it was only logical that they- she? She might have been under Artorias’ or Ornstein’s direct command, and fought besides or even knew Sif, even if it was young Sif. Was the war against the Chaos Flame before or after Oolicile’s fall? No, wait, she’s waiting for a response, I need to say something!

I gestured with a paw. “Rise.” I even managed to not slur the word, so that was at least a good start. I think it was getting a little easier to concentrate and not screw up the hard sounds.

The Black Knight rose to her feet, planting the blunt end of her halberd in the ground as she did, an almighty creaking coming from the thick plates of blackened metal that concealed her form.

“For you to have left your vigil, Lady Sif, something great and terrible must have occurred. For you to have sought me out, worse even still than that.” She leaned on her halberd slightly, watching me and waiting for my response.

Great, another potential minefield, but this time with something that can actually kill me instead of risking pissing off a vital ally. Twice in one day, must be some sort of record. Buying time, I turned my head to the right and up, staring upwards to where the belltower of the Undead Parish was just visible through the fog of Darkroot Garden.

“I have been thinking. Con… sidering.” Got it. “About my place in all this, all of our place. The end of an Age, and what have we done.”

“Lady Sif, we have done what we were commanded. We take our posts, we ensure the power and quality of those that attempt to pass is sufficient, that when they meet the gods in Anor Londo they are worthy of the task they will be given.”

“Do we?” I whispered the words, but it occurred to me a moment later that the Knight might have… I heard her shifting uncomfortably, so she must have. Urgh. I turned back towards her, that… feeling coming back, rising in my throat and my mind, my jaws less awkward, anatomy more obedient. “Tell me, when was the last time you heard from the gods? Does Ornstein himself come down from his mountain on high? I myself have doubts that there are any gods of note left in Anor Londo, for neither Alvina nor I have seen trace of them for a long, long time.”

“Lady Sif…” her grip tightened around the shaft of her halberd, metal creaking almost inaudibly under her superhuman strength. “It… does not do to question the motives and plans of the gods. It is not our place to object to our orders, such as they are. The gods have seen wisdom, in placing me where I am, in agreeing with your desire to guard your master’s grave, and that wisdom is seeking a champion amongst the teeming Undead.”

“And what if they are gone, having truly abandoned us? What then?” Her helmeted head jerked back, then turned away. It wasn’t something she’d considered. “Where were the gods when we stormed lost Izalith? Lord Gwyn at the fore, as he ever was, Lord Nito with his death and his legion of undead creatures, Lady Gwyndolin behind him with her illusions… and then you, who stood by Ornstein’s side, and I, who stood by Sir Artorias’. Three gods and an army of demigods against all the demons Chaos could bring forth.” I swept my paw. “No, ‘tis more likely that the gods have abandoned us in our hour of need, cowards that they are. And it will come down to us to deal with the results of their folly, as it ever was.”

The Knight’s hands clenched and unclenched, clenched and unclenched, as I finally fell silent.

“And what…” she cleared her throat. “What are you planning, Lady Sif?”

Okay, first hurdle. She hadn’t outright killed me right out of the gate at least. “I have spoken to Alvina. She sends a team of Hunters above and beyond, to cut through the legions of Undead infesting Lordran, to parlay with the gods in Anor Londo. If they still hold the center, waiting for a tested champion, if they have plans, then we shall return to what we were directed to. But, if they find the white halls empty… then we are betrayed, and must act on our own for the first time in our history.” I sighed, looking upwards at the bell tower again. “In all honesty… I wish for you to be right, that we might not take such drastic measures. But I have steeped too long in misery and grief, and I fear that Sir Artorias would be disappointed, should he see how I have squandered my days without him in a clearing, sleeping atop his grave.”

There was a long pause. The feeling in my throat faded, jaws becoming awkward and hard to manage once again, but I was just glad it had allowed me to say my piece. I gazed up at the tower, trying to make out the individual forms of the gargoyles that guarded it… with mild surprise, I realized that they were all still intact and standing. Had the Undead that faced me ignored what Oscar had no doubt said to them and come down to Darkroot instead of ascending to face them and toll the bell? I’d have to ask her. And… probably fight them, eventually. Hrm.

“I…”

I heard a very quiet click of teeth on teeth, and I imagined her grimacing under the impenetrable darkness of the inside of her helmet. I wonder what she looks like, under there? You don’t precisely get to see the appearance of… actually, come to think of it, you don’t see the appearance of a single one of Gwyn’s knights. Even the four knights were entirely concealed. That was… very odd, now that I thought of it. My train of thought was broken as the Black Knight stood taller.

“I… perhaps… you may be right.”

I tilted my head. “Truly? Wa...S it-” Easy? Simple? Both have ‘S’, I’d probably screw them both up-

“Easy as that?” A shake of her helmeted head as she intuited the rest of my sentence. Lucky, that, I hadn’t been sure I could finish it. “Nay. Perhaps… my compatriots felt different, but… my service is to Gwyn above all others, and I served by his side with honour and distinction for many years. I fear that, in the end, the light of the Sun blinded me to the treachery of the lesser gods. I had thought them loyal and brave as Lady Gwyndolin, but looking back…” she walked forwards, standing at the edge of the cliff and looking out towards the bell tower high above, rising high above a church dedicated to the worship of the gods in Lordran. “Though it fills me with regret, I… am afraid that you ARE right. That none are left in Anor Londo, that we have been simply spent to protect a fading ruin while the gods flee to the corners of the world.” her grip tightened on her halberd once again. “I pledge to you, Lady Sif… if you are correct, if what we fear comes to pass… return here. Call for me, and I will lend my strength to your cause, whatever cause it may be.” she raised her hand, then planted the butt of her halberd into the solid stone. That done, she raised her hands high, and it only took me a moment to recognize the famed Praise the Sun pose. “Long may the Sun shine.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I bowed my head slightly. Focus. “Long may the Sun shine.” Got it in one. Nice.

She tore her weapon from the rock, creating a hail of stone shards that rained into the valley, extracting an annoyed cry from the drakes far below. One more nod to me, then she turned and marched back towards the bonfire. I watched her go, and, the moment she was out of earshot, released a long sigh of relief.

“Well, at leasht that went okay…”

I muttered the words to myself, relief evident in my voice even to me, then turned to the arduous task of climbing back up the tiny, human-sized trails to the top, where the path up the cliff met the path from the entrance of Darkroot Garden to what was more or less the hub of the area. Two paths, one through the Crest Door and one other, led from the small safe area outside of the illusionary wall that concealed one of the area’s two bonfires, and most definitely the more central of the two. Given that I couldn’t access the passageway bonfire no matter how I tried, and the fact that my Black Knight friend would most likely expect taciturn Sif to leave the moment… well, she said her piece, I couldn’t do anything more here.

I thought about what she said, as I carefully moved myself to the top of the path, and started squeezing my bulk through the stone passageway at the top. About… what I’d said. Had Sif and Artorias fought in the war against the demons of Chaos? It… it felt right, thinking it, saying it, like it was a fact, an indisputable truth of the universe. But it didn’t come from lore that I could remember, hadn’t risen from my memories or from a simple lie, it simply… was.

Had something of Sif remained, when I supplanted her in her body? The sensation that I had experienced when I had gone to speak with Sif’s old allies, twice now, steadying my words and allowing me speech longer than I could ever manage without it.

I felt… regretful, I suppose, about… whatever happened to Sif when I’d come in. I didn’t know if her mind had been destroyed, kicked out or simply made dormant, and I had no idea if there was anything I could do about it. I’d had… something of a freak out about my changing body- and changing gender- already, but… this world was a giant deathtrap. Lordran was quite literally designed as a giant deathtrap that was only meant to be escapable when enough corpses had built up that somebody could climb the mountain straight into the First Flame. Everything that had shifted and changed about me, about what I was, who I was… it could wait. I could leave it until I knew that I was safe.

I suppose it was fortunate for me that she knew Sif just well enough to have fought by her side on a number of occasions, but not well enough to know Sif’s mannerisms and habit of speech, otherwise my game’d be rumbled and I’d be screwed.

Though, she’d implied that the other gods had given her reason to be suspicious of them in the past. Part of me wondered if that extended to the ranks of normal Silver Knights as well, which would neatly explain why so many of the ones in Anor Londo were illusions and not true Knights. They would serve Gwyn loyally to the very end, without question, go up against the fiercest foes and give their lives for his cause, but with Gwyn dead and the Fire fading it made sense that their loyalty to the other gods would be questionable at best. So, the best solution would be to set them on an old stopgap plan of dear old dad’s, then ditch Lordran and party it up somewhere far from the Undead scourge until the Flame went out. Of course the faction loyal to Gwyn would stick faithfully to a plan that he came up with, and there was a very good chance that most of them would die during the process, giving the other gods the best likelihood of taking back Lordran if it all worked out for the better.

I was pretty sure that Velka would have some quite nasty things in store for them in the aftermath, given her whole sins shtick, but I really didn’t know where she fell on the loyalty thing. Given her sphere of influence, and the likelihood that Gwyn would have used her as an enforcer of sorts, I’d tentatively say that she would be a loyalist whose assistance I might be able to count on eventually, as long as I had the right people and plans on my side. Given that she had a representative taking up residence in the bell tower after the gargoyles were defeated, it might be likely that she was showing support for Gwyn’s plan in absentia. Potentially, she was roaming the world, meeting out punishment on the far less loyal gods who abandoned Lordran. Or… she’d fled just like the rest and Oswald just came here so he could tell her when it was safe to come back home. That was an option as well.

I glanced at the bush monsters as I passed them on the trail, but after some minor shivering, they seemed to be content to stay in place and ignore my passing. I wondered if their buddies informed them of what I did to the other one on accident, or if the ones waiting in ambush were just more attentive to the fact that I was boss-level, not mook-level, and treating me as such.

Specifically, she’d mentioned both Nito and Gwyndolin as fighting alongside Gwyn during the demon war. Gwyndolin was no surprise, he’d stuck fast by his father’s side for so long that he’d willingly remained in solitary confinement in a nearly abandoned Anor Londo just to manage the Darkmoons and maintain the illusions that reassured people of the god’s continuing power despite the Undead curse spreading through the kingdoms.

Nito, on the other hand, was a complete unknown. You never knew where a death god stood, really. On one hand, he could be entirely supportive of my technically Gwyn-aligned cause of… I don’t know, stopping the Cycle? Especially if we took care of his little necromancer pest problem. However, on the other hand, he might declare complete neutrality based on the fact that if the world ended, then it was just its natural time. Not likely, given his interference whenever Gwyn went out and fought somebody, but then again, you could just make the argument that he saw the fall of the dragons as part of the perfectly natural cycle of life and death and fought against Chaos because it was a perversion of such. I suppose I wouldn’t know until I plumbed the depths of the Tomb of the Giants and asked the big skeleton himself.

And then there were the entirely likely options that he’d gone mad from the death cult that’d staked their camp right at the door to his apartments and that he’d try to kill me and anyone I brought with me the second he knew they were there. Or he’d declare us an affront to the natural order by trying to disrupt it and try to kill us. Or… he’d decide to kill us just because. Like I said, you could never tell, with death gods.

Seath was… Seath, so at least he was somewhat predictable. Interested only in his own survival and collecting further knowledge, not that he was especially concerned about the former anymore given that the bugger could just reincarnate every time somebody put him down. Or, at least, I think he could. Still, I’d have to make him a good offer to catch his interest.

Everything else would have to decide itself one way or the other, whenever I got to the person in question and spoke to them. I wondered if the Knight knew anything about Quelagg or Priscilla, but that wasn’t particularly likely. Would probably be better off talking to Gwyndolin, he’d know his way around everybody that was or had been in Lordran at any point. Princess daddy’s boy-

I stopped, frowning. Alright, that sentence ranked up there with the worst things that I’d ever thought, and I wasn’t ever going to think it again. Washing my paws of that particular combination of words and pretending I never thought them.

Anyway… Gwyndolin had stuck by Gwyn’s side ever since he’d been born, most likely knew his way in and around everything Lordran and all his dad’s vassals. Though, thinking about it… didn’t the illusion of Gwynevere lovingly call Gwyndolin ‘brother’? Was that wishful thinking on his part? That was… kind of sad, really. Poor snake prince needs a hug.

As I mulled over these thoughts, I finally came around the bend and caught a glimpse of the bonfire through the archway that’d been filled with an illusion at some point. And I caught a glimpse of the figure sitting at it. Wearing the Elite Knight armour. Crap.

I grimaced, wincing a little. I’d have really preferred that they not be there the moment when I came to have a look at the bonfire, but the worst part was that I didn’t exactly have a choice in this encounter. There quite literally wasn’t a way for me to leave Darkroot Wood and Darkroot Basin, being that the only two exits were the tower shortcut to the Undead Parish and the other tower that came out next to the belltower, with Andre of Astora perched in it, working on his weapons. Neither had large enough entrances for me to fit through, and even if they did, I didn’t really have any desire to face the hollow of Havel the Rock. Even if he was a shell of his former self, the dude wore some of the most formidable armour in the game and wielded an actual dragon’s tooth. I was at least decently sure that he fit somewhere on the list of things that could actually kill me.

So, with only two bonfires in Darkroot and the first being entirely inaccessible to me thanks to being in a tiny little cave, I didn’t precisely have a choice. If I wanted a look at a bonfire, it’d have to be this one. And that meant making nice with the poor Undead that I’d scared halfway to second death… or however many deaths she was on.

I sighed. Might as well get it over with.

When I poked my head through the archway, she glanced up and nearly had what I was pretty sure would be a heart attack if her heart was still beating. Actually, was it? I didn’t exactly know how being cursed affected the autonomic functions of the body… whatever. Regardless, her gauntleted hand went straight to her chest, and she backpedaled so hard back from the bonfire that I was briefly worried that she’d pitch herself right off the edge and into the chasm below. Not that it’d be anything more than a short delay as she respawned from the bonfire she’d been sitting at, but I still thought it was a decently embarrassing way to die.

I held up a paw to forestall her. “I am not here to take revenge, or anything like that.”

“Th-then, ah, wh-what do you want…?”

Her hand still hovered above her heart, but she’d sat up a little more. Progress, I think. I gestured with a paw towards the flames crackling around a sword thrust into a small pile of Undead bones that seemed to be serving as fuel.

“Wanted a look at the bonfire.”

“That’s… that’s it?”

I think, had she not been wearing her helmet, she’d be blinking at me right now. Not that I could precisely blame her, I’d be totally panicked if Sif went on a walkabout. Sif in Artorias’ gravesite I could handle, Sif wandering around Darkroot Wood could very well be a nightmare of the worst sort.

“Mhm.” I tilted my head thoughtfully for a moment. “Though… there are thingsh that I wish to… to ask you.”

“...Ah.”

She didn’t sound precisely enthused about that, but I really couldn’t blame her. Instead, I ignored her for the moment and leaned as far through the archway as I could get, being stopped only when my shoulders met the stone- and then just because I didn’t want to outright collapse the thing.That done, I lowered my head, getting as close to the small flame and the sword as I possibly could, taking a deep breath and trying to bring that same thing that let me sense the magic in the rings close to the surface.

The first thing I realized was that the bonfire was disorienting, what felt like two different cooperating magical signatures overlapping. They felt different, and when I really focused, eyes narrowed, I could feel that… the sword. The sword and the actual flame had different kinds of magic.

The flame was… it didn’t feel like fire. More, it felt like the concept of fire, the idea of fire. As if someone had taken all the things every being had ever thought about fire and distilled them into this, the purest true form of Flame. Suddenly, I understood why there would be capitalization there: this wasn’t just A fire, it was THE Fire. All other fire was a cheap, weak imitation of this, the true Flame. It would burn anything that was put into it, not because it was hot enough or because whatever was fed into it was actually flammable, but because it would burn the very idea of something for fuel. No wonder the Undead could lose themselves to the bonfires, it could be corrosive to the very soul. Suppose that was a decent reflection of another collection of ideas about fire: lifegiver and warmth and safety, but the potential for raging destruction in every spark.

The coiled sword was entirely different. The Flame felt natural, like it existed on its own before everything else- which was true, as far as I knew about DS lore. The Flame wasn’t precisely chaotic, but neither was it really ordered, being somewhere between the two. The sword, however, was woven with order, with carefully crafted magic, logic beaten into every fold of the metal. Where-as the Flame was something like a primal force of nature, powerful and barely controlled, the sword was a tool. Quite literally, it felt like the sword was pinning this small fragment of Flame here, calling a few sparks from the very First Flame itself and preventing them from escaping. It WAS the Flame, but it also wasn’t, as if this bonfire was an avatar that was just an expression of a tiny percentage of the might of the Flame refined down to a merry little fire dancing around the metal of the coiled sword. I suspected that, if I reached out and touched it, the sword would feel cool despite being sat right in the center of the Flame. Not that I was willing to try, I didn’t exactly want to lose a paw to stupid experimentation.

And when I focused… I could feel something, the thinnest thread of orange-gold. Tracing it led me to look right back at the Undead, who was watching me warily… and had blue light swirling within her. The orange-gold of the thread wrapped around her, connecting near the base of her neck. Interesting.

So, I suppose that meant the Undead were physically tethered to the bonfires they were so fascinated by, doomed to be drawn to them again and again as long as they felt purpose, to be eventually burned to ash in the Flame when even their Hollow gave in. I could even get vague snatches of something from the bones in the fire, the swing of a sword, the ring of metal against metal, despair and hopelessness…

I shook my head, pulling away from the sense within me. Immediately, the sensations of Flame and Sword faded to the back of my mind, where I realized they’d been burning ever since I’d laid eyes on the bonfire. If I was to guess, I’d say that was most likely how the time-skipping effect of the bonfires worked; they formed a magical link with… the souls? Yes, the souls of anyone who laid eyes upon it, and thus it could introduce external magical effects such as the subjective dilation of time.

“... So.”

“So…?”

Urgh, how to question her without making myself look like an idiot. I mean, I guess I could just say that I haven’t spoken mortal languages in so long that I’m struggling with them… actually, you know, that could work. As far as she knows, I’m ancient beyond belief and pretty much a god, so it might make sense.

“I… feel I mush- must apologiZe for my mangled shpeech. It ha… has been sho long sinshe I… spoke your language lasht, I fear that I shtruggle with many of the wordsh.”

I saw movement dimly through her helm, what I’d assume to be her eyes blinking.

“Uh, well… d-don’t worry about it?” I quirked the tiniest grin, but that just seemed to put her ill at ease, so I stopped. “What do you, um…” she swallowed, trying to get up her courage in the presence of something that killed her multiple times. Should probably say something about that at some point. “What did you want to, er, ask?”

“I shimply want to ashertain your level of progresh through Lordran, learn where you have been and where you have not been yet.”

“Oh, ah…” she raised her head, and I imagined her squinting under the visor. Honest recall then, good. “I… woke up, in that weird chapel place, the one sorta stuck on a mountain?”

“Where did you come from before that?”

She fidgeted with the gauntlets on her hands, rubbing rings placed over the metal.

“I, eh, would prefer not to…”

I waved a paw. “No need to, then.” Another gesture from me. “Continue.”

“O-okay. Some… guy, in armour, dropped this key down to me. I unlocked the door with it, but all I had was a broken sword, and there were… things in the corridors. Undead, like those cursed in my, um, homeland… but way worse. Leathery skin and sunken, empty eyes…” she shuddered, armour rattling. “They came at me, hissing and groaning, swung swords. I… killed them.” her arms tightened around her chest as she hugged herself, staring into the Flame. “I’d never killed anyone before.”

I considered trying to comfort her in some way, but… that would probably either come off wrong or injure her somehow. She was skittish already, and making a sudden move and potentially accidentally hurting or even killing her, even if it wouldn’t have more than a temporary effect, wouldn’t exactly help my case. She gathered herself, falling silent for a few seconds, then continued forward.

“I met the guy, in armour, he fell through the floor when this big demon up there took a swing at him and just missed… seemed annoyed by it, really, had me help him to a bonfire before he gave me… this.”

She held up a dull green glass bottle filled with something that looked- and glowed- like liquid fire. The Estus flask, then. I leaned slightly closer to examine it, causing her to twitch, then relax and hold it up higher for me to examine. I gave what she hopefully saw as a nod of thanks.

The glass felt… it was something like the sword, actually. Instead of pinning a shard of the First Flame in place, however, this thing actually took a spark of the First Flame and contained it within itself, taking on a liquid form, allowing it to be drunk. However, it seemed to only have a limited capacity- it was… actually, it was rather like a battery or a capacitor, something that could hold a finite amount of charge from the Flame and administer the power in careful bursts.

And then everything else she said registered with me. Oscar of Astora, not dreadfully injured and not Hollow? That was a departure from usual DS at the very least. Or, perhaps the Chosen Undead that was the player character hadn’t actually arrived yet in this timeline, and thus Oscar hadn’t met his doom? That made me rather hopeful that I could hop over there and kidnap the knight before his fate truly befell him; I needed all the hands I could get, and a skilled knight who might know more about the Bells of Awakening was always handy. Heh, handy.

The Undead put away the flask, turning back to the bonfire and continuing.

“I fought a number of Hollows, killed anything whose path I crossed… Oscar gave me tips and some training, so I didn’t entirely embarrass myself with the first actual blade I picked up. Still, though, he said I couldn’t leave without challenging and defeating the very thing that had almost gotten him. He said it was… the magic of the Asylum? As if it was a hurdle I would have to cross before being allowed to leave.” she shrugged. “I didn’t, and don’t, know much about the magic of the gods and demons, so… I trusted him. Dropped down on the demon from above, got a few good stabs in, then it threw me and… it stepped on me.” a shuffle. “That’s… that was my second death. If you count me becoming Undead as the first.”

She fell silent, and I felt no desire to interrupt that. I wondered if she had a family, a home that she left behind in her old country when she travelled here to Lordran. She probably wasn’t from Thorolund, if only because that seemed to be the hub for the activities of the Way of White, and they were rather known for their Undead hunting. Doubt she’d have made it here if she’d run into them. Still didn’t answer the question of where she was actually from, but I suppose that could wait for another time. Not like I was on the clock here, other than the dying of the First Flame.

“It… took… a few attempts. And as Oscar explained, I could see something of the… the test that the gods had designed. The demon would move in patterns, predictable and consistent, and eventually I learned the patterns and struck a blow that slew it.” her helmet turned towards me. “Can you imagine that? Me, a demon slayer. Pshaw.”

“Shuppose the people back home would never believe it if you told them?”

A shake of the head, chuckle echoing very slightly within the metal helmet. “No, they’d call me a teller of fairy stories. The only swords I’d ever even handled before I came here were wooden.” she shrugged, armour clanking softly with the movement. “At least I knew the pointy end from the dull end, how to stick it in… that was something, I guess.”

“Sho. You beat it?”

A nod. “It was… I think it was almost magical, standing above some great giant monster right out of legend that I’d slain with my own two hands and a weapon. For a moment, I felt like a hero straight from the stories…” she sniffed. “Though the stories don’t tell you how bad the monsters smell.”

I let out a huffing chuckle at that. The Undead startled a little, then settled back in and let out a small laugh of her own.

“Oscar told me to walk up the hill, to the cliff, bade me a friendly goodbye, said he might send more Undead along to help me as they appeared. He mentioned… something about worlds, that we’re all aligned, but we’re not? It was confusing, and he didn’t explain himself very well, but I got the gist of the fact that they’d all pretty much experience what I experienced, thanks to the magic of the gods.” Another shake of the head. “Could never wrap my head around that magic stuff. At least the more complicated things. We had a hedge-witch, she showed me a couple things, but besides that…” shrug.

“Magic ish a tough dishipline, shurprished you know anything about it at all.”

“If I had a catalyst, I could probably cast a spell or two… never showed enough potential for the witch to take me on as a student, though. Anyway…” she shifted herself, trying to get more comfortable. “Fought my way up the cliff, then… then this raven just swooped down out of nowhere, picked me up, and hauled me into the sky!” she made a gesture with her hand, seemingly starting to get into the story-telling. “I think that was the point that I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t home anymore, that I couldn’t go back, and now I was a part of some story the gods had designed for me to be a part of the telling of.” she kept her hand up, staring away from the fire and into the sky with a wistful air. “I think… of everything that’s happened, that was my favorite. If I… die, and go… Hollow, I think I’d be happy, just because I got the chance to fly. How many humans have experienced that?”

She lowered her hand again. I shifted a bit, carefully laying down in the archway without knocking the structure over, putting my head on my paws with one of my ears pointed in her direction.

“After that… the shrine, that forlorn guy… I dipped down into the ruins below what he told me was the Firelink Shrine, and there were honest-to-gods ghosts down there that I couldn’t even hit with my sword. Rickert was nice, though the fact that he was in a cell makes me nervous. I tried going into the graveyard, but the skeletons would just get up again and again no matter how many times I slew them, so I turned and went up the stairs.”

“It all sheemsh so shtrange when you tell it.”

“Heh… I suppose you’re used to it, Lady Sif…?” I nodded, and she nodded back. “Erm. Anyway… this merchant lady told me I was going into the Undead Burg, warned me about the things that lived there, the big monster that dominated the bridge to the Parish- where Oscar told me I needed to go if I wanted any answers. So I moved through there, fought my way into the burg, met the creepy merchant in the one room… kept going. Saw a lot of Undead, fought most of them, I had to to progress and I slowly got better at it. Managed to nab myself a better shield, though not this one, not yet.”

Fondly, she patted the shield that I’d thought was the Crest shield, but looking closer… it seemed I’d only been half right. The blue light in Darkroot had tinted it, but now, looking at it, I realized it was the Grass Crest shield, not the Crest you got from Oscar during the second Asylum visit. Which… she wouldn’t get, because Oscar wasn’t Hollow. Hrm.

“Interesting story about this- but, um, I’ll get to it in a bit.” she rested her arm back on her knee. “So, anyway… that was when I saw my first Black Knight, there in the burg. Standing, guarding something.” she shuddered. “I grew up with tales of Gwyn and his loyal knights, Ornstein, Artorias, Ciaran and Gough, and the legions of the Silver Knights and the demon-slaying Black Knights. I was, frankly, terrified out of my mind when I saw that knight standing there, but thankfully they seemed satisfied to stand there and glower unless I came too close. So… I didn’t. Didn’t feel like assisted suicide by way of sword that probably weighed half as much as me. Went up some stairs instead.” a turn of the head. “What’s with all the stairs, anyway? Was there some god of stairs that had to be appeased?”

“Your guesh ish ash good ash mine.”

“Heh, that would be pretty funny… anyway. Went up the stairs, then climbed up this tower. Then… there was this thing, this wall of fog that I’d seen before, when I’d fought the Asylum demon. So I knew I was gonna be in for a rough fight. I passed through, went up a ladder and killed some archers- then this fucking thing the size of a godsdamned building comes charging down the wall! I freak out, of course, but it hesitates when it gets to the base of the tower, and I remembered how I managed to score some good hits on the Asylum demon thing before it even knew I was there. So… I took my sword, jumped off the tower, and rammed it right in the thing’s eye.” she made a downward stabbing motion with her fists as I watched. “Damn, but that felt good. Then, eh, it threw me off the wall… but, hey, I got a good hit in. Took me a few tries to get the hang of that one, but I finally brought it down… and then I had to contend with the fact that a godsdamned dragon was guarding the bridge to the Parish.”

I shook my head, drawing her attention. “Not a dragon. Drake. Very different shpeshiesh. Shpeciesh.” I frowned. “... rashes? R-a-c-e-s. Ra-ces.” I nodded. “Very different racesh.”

“... Really? Looked like a dragon to me, like from the old stories of Gwyn and his knights, the war for the dawn of time… big, scales, bat wings, breathes fire. Dragon.”

“No. If it wash a dragon, trusht me, you’d know. They’re cunning and intelligent, not to menshion far more powerful than their lessher coushinsh, the drakesh.”

Shrug. “I’ll… take your word for it, I suppose. You’d know better than I.” she snapped her fingers, more of a clank of metal on metal than a clean snap. “Ah, almost forgot- I met a knight, Solaire of Astora. He… also mentioned something about worlds, that he wasn’t sure how long ours would be aligned?” she leaned back against the stone wall. “It was… nice to talk to somebody for a while, especially someone that upbeat and positive. Like shining a ray of light into a dark room. Hadn’t realized how bad it got before that.”

“Undead… they go Hollow if they don’t have hope, don’t have a caushe to push for, shomething to dedicate themshelves to. Sh’why there are sho many religions in Lordran now.”

“Ah.” she sounded distinctly uncomfortable at that bit of information. “W-well, anyway… I ran past the thing, finally, by hitting it with a soul spear, but I lost my catalyst in the panic and it got burnt to ash when the drag- drake flamed the bridge. But I didn’t care, because I was past all that garbage- or, at least I thought it was. And then I fought a bunch of filthy disgusting rats but I don’t want to talk about that, and THEN I got to the top of the tower and ran like hell from another Black Knight, which led to me ending up at the bonfire there.” she placed her gauntleted hand over her helmet’s visor, shuddering. “The Parish was a complete nightmare, I don’t even want to talk about that place. Just… so much… Eventually, trying to escape the whole thing for a breather, I went down this bridge to a tower, and I ran into this blacksmith. He was nice. Nice enough to warn me about the demon in his basement, which I… eventually defeated? Saw this place past it, thought it was… nice. A nice change from all the grey stone I’d seen so far, so I tried to figure out if there was anything here that could help me.” A shrug. “Eventually, that led me to you, and… yeah, that’s it. My whole story. Still feels like… a fairy tale that happened to someone else.”

“Ishn’t there one more thing?” she turned her helmet to me. “Your shield?” Hey, look, a word that I can’t mangle with an ‘s’, what an achievement.

“Oh! Uh, well, see, while I was exploring… I came across this cliff path. So I went down it because of course I did. I got all the way to the bottom, where this cave was, and I thought I saw a bonfire down there, right?” she shrugged. “Thought it’d be a nice place to rest up, get my equipment back in order. So, I was fiddling with some buckles, and ran smack into the legs of a Black Knight.”

“That had to be terrifying.”

“Urgh, you’re not kidding. I think I jumped about six feet, which… let me dodge the first swing of the halberd, by accident. When I rolled away from the next strike, I landed right on top of the corpse that had this shield, so I grabbed the shield and tossed the corpse at the knight to distract them!”

“... And then what?”

“I ran like hell.”

We both laughed at that. I felt like she was more at ease with me, now, not so scared as she’d been even at the start of this particular encounter, which… I think that was good. We sat in a distinctly more comfortable silence for a while, watching the Flame of the bonfire ripple independent of the wind.

“Hrm.”

The Undead twitched, looking at me. “Hm?”

“It occurresh to me that… you have me at a disadvanshe.”

“Uh… how so?”

“You know my name, but I haven’t learned yoursh.”

“Oh, is that all?”

She took off her helmet, shaking out black hair. Her face was a bit worn, but it was obvious she’d sacrificed humanity between the last time she died and now. I think the word for her face was… striking? A number of scars dotted the skin here and there, one leading from her chin to just below her left eye, another on the bridge of her nose. She smiled at me, hesitant, but honest.

“Celia. My name is Celia. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sif.”