“Not an option, then.”

The flickering of the bonfire reflected across the damp cave walls, laden with the moisture that packed the air of Darkroot. My tail swished behind me, my head turned to the left, where the Black Knight sat in a cross-legged position, her spear across her lap as she tended to it. She’d taken her helmet off, revealing raven black hair cropped close- slightly uneven, and I imagined that she’d done it herself with a dagger.

“It is unfortunate, Lady Sif, but in this regard, my intervention would harm more than help. I am already considered one of the more suspect of my fellows, and to approach one of my own order, counter to the orders the gods have handed down…” she shook her head.

“Hn.” I flexed my paws, digging little furrows into the thin layer of pebble-laden soil that covered the cave floor. “Would my appearance be much better, then? I do not imagine that a Black Knight would be much more pleased to see me, away from Artorias’ grave.”

An armoured finger tapped the flat of her spear’s blade, producing a pure, clear ringing noise, as if it was metal against crystal. Considering that the Black Knight’s weapons were almost entirely titanite, I wondered if that had anything to do with the attributes of the material itself.

“It… hm. Not precisely the same, as it were. My place was given to me- that is, I was given orders to be here, to match blades with the Undead, though not to crush them. We are here to test them, not to break them, for that is the god’s will. You, Lady Sif, requested your own position. There are none left that would have command over you, save whomever sits the throne in Anor Londo. The Four Knights swore to it directly, and, sworn sword of Knight Artorias as you were,” she glanced at my muzzle, and the corner of her mouth twitched upwards, “well. They may question you, but they do not have the authority to stop you, or order you back. For once, the lack of gods in these lower sanctums works to our advantage.”

“... I can see why the other Black Knights would consider you suspect. I think the word is ‘devious’.”

A pleased grin spread across her face. “One does not traverse the halls of the gods and reach my position and age without a few shreds of intelligence, Lady.”

----------------------------------------

Unlike the first time I’d approached it, the entrance to the Titanite Demon’s hall was far larger than I was, and I was easily able to pass through. It was strange, having reverted to such a small size, especially just after I’d gotten used to being so big… except I was still that big.

Both of me frowned. I didn’t think I was going to get used to this double-body thing anytime soon. Still, even as my larger body moved towards the lower parts of Darkroot, to see if the yellow golem was already there or not, my smaller avatar moved through the hall and towards the stairs.

I paused at the base of them, ears twitching at the ringing of metal echoing down the tunnel, and the flickering of firelight shining down the passageway. Andre of Astora, perhaps one of the greatest smiths in the world, sat at the top. He’d… hm.

I distinctly remember Andre showing up in Dark Souls 3, though he made no such appearance in 2. Did this mean that he happened to be elsewhere during the rise and fall of Dranglaic, and the following lead up to the kindling of the First Flame? Given how much of Dranglaic was a ruin and how it was treated as something of a hyper-dangerous frontier that nobody ever went into, I suppose it made sense. Him showing up in three was most likely him huddling close to the exceedingly faded First Flame, clinging onto the scraps of the world that still survived among the seas of ash.

So… I had something of a Patches question on my hands, here. Had Andre actually survived the Ages, watching the First Flame slowly die, withering even as it was revived again and again? Or was it someone who just very much resembled him?

I huffed, tilting back my head a little. That question would be far more relevant if I was in Lothric, rather than having Darkroot at my avatar’s back. As it was, Andre wasn’t even Undead all that long, and hadn’t observed the passing of ages as Patches had. Which didn’t prevent him from being useful, it just meant that he was a little less important to my information gathering, owing to the fact that he most likely didn’t know anything more outside of metallurgy and smithing than anyone else hailing from Astora. It definitely meant that, while I would most likely have need of his smithing skills for one thing or another, he wasn’t the most important of people right now, and was definitely below my current target in terms of my mental ‘to do’ list. With that in mind, I mounted the stairs and passed into his makeshift smithy.

It was hot, in that room, nearly stifling, and I could see why the man had gone shirtless. The first thing that drew my attention was a glow where there hadn’t been one in the games, and I quickly figured out that it belonged to an actual forge the likes of which Andre had lacked in said games- something I’d always wondered about. While it was definitely cruder than the stonework around it, quarried and carved stone blocks compared to fired clay bricks, it seemed to serve the purpose just fine. A chimney was routed out of the thing and up towards a window, where it funneled smoke out into the open air.

The second thing that drew my attention was the hulking smith himself. The man was, indeed, as shirtless as he had been in the games, huge hammer swinging down on a longsword that had his total focus. The metal glowed and illuminated his beard and face, highlighting the burns on his chest from decades working metal at a forge. It also… highlighted the fact that the man was ripped as all hell, and the sweat glistening on those muscles as they moved…

I jerked violently in place, shaking my head and quickly wiping something that definitely wasn’t a little bit of drool from my muzzle. I… really hoped he hadn’t seen that. From the way he shifted afterwards as if just noticing me, I assumed that he hadn’t, but he might be just being polite. Not that I’d mind if he was- even if he’d noticed, I’d prefer if we didn’t speak about it.

Regardless! The mountain of muscle quenched the blade that he’d been working on, then drew it out of the water and examined it carefully. Seeming satisfied, he set it aside, turning his attention to me.

“Ah! Well, now. Are you not the Lady Sif I’ve heard such talk about?” He brought up a hand, stroking his beard. “Rather small, though, aren’t you?”

I padded forwards, settling on the flat stone before him, my tail swishing and knocking a little of the dust from the floor.

“My… true form’s size is inconvenient at the best of times. Given this, I decided to do something about it. However, that is not especially relevant.” I tilted my head slightly. “I trust that Celia gifted you the Divine Ember, as I had instructed her to?”

“Oh, yes.” Reverently, he brushed his scarred fingers across a stone box to his side. “I had not heard from… I’d feared the worst, and it appears that I was right to. Still, I am glad to have this, though I wish t’was not in my peer’s memory.” A sad expression stole across what I could see of his face. “There are so few with the mastery to truly make use of the Embers, and for one of us to fall permanently… even this faded Age is poorer for the loss.”

I hummed. “I agree. Too much has been lost, as the Fire fades and the gods make little effort to preserve what remains. Still, this is why I strive to do what I can: uplift those who are left, gather a core around me that might relight the flame of this world, both in a literal and figurative sense.”

My ears twitched, and I watched him closely. After a moment, he met my eyes, though what emotions he held were masked. “You know…”

He raised an eyebrow at me, encouraging me to go on. It was… a thought. A guess, perhaps, but one that combined a few facts, and perhaps… mm. It was worth the risk. Should I be wrong, I’d lost nothing, regardless.

“There is something I wish to ask you about. Something… sensitive. And neither of us know who may be prying, even here in this near-dead land.”

Something about Andre’s expression turned curious, and grave.

“I understand.” A shift in his seat. “This place, this time… it’s dangerous, and you can’t know who you can trust. If you have something so sensitive as to need to speak to me with secrecy, Lady Sif, I cannot refuse. My hammer is at your call.” He leaned back, settling his huge hands on his knees. “Still! Until then, perhaps this humble blacksmith might ask if there is anything else he can do for you?”

I considered it. Andre was, perhaps, the greatest blacksmith remaining in this land- not to disparage the works of the Giant, Rickert or Vamos, but Andre was something… more. The fact that he showed up in the future indicated that he was more than what he seemed, but still. I remembered how my claws and teeth skittered off the stone skin of the Bell Gargoyles, how I had had some inkling of why Sif would choose to wield the weapon of her master so impractically, especially in her younger age when she had been as small as I was now. Perhaps Andre could fix that issue?

“What do you know of me?”

Andre leaned backwards slightly, frowning.

“Well… mostly, only what those who have fought you have said about you. A wolf of divine proportions, standing eternal guard over a grave, wielding a sword more than twice the size of a man. Though, you seem to be lacking anything of the sort at the moment.”

I nodded. “Quite so. My sword is…” My face twisted slightly as a spark of sadness from… somewhere passed through me. Where had-? No, focus. “It is an homage to my master, Knight Artorias, one of the Four Knights of Gwyn. He… fell, long ago, striving to protect the land of Oolacile- and the rest of the world- from the gaping Abyss.” I took in a breath, shaking my head. “There is purpose in my use of it. In my youth, I was small, the size of the form that you see before you. Without the overwhelming size and strength of my full form, it was difficult to overpower the defenses of those I fought against, and so a weapon resembling Knight Artorias’ blade was forged for my use. When I had grown, I had no use for it, but now it is long lost and I find myself needing a blade of normal proportions once again.”

“Ah! A blade, is it, then?” He rubbed his large hands together, then pushed himself to his feet, towering over where I sat upon the stone floor and grinned. “Well, that’s certainly something I can help you with.” He turned away from me, to the stockpile of weapons behind him, perusing them and sending a glance back in my direction. “Do you have an idea of what you want?”

I stood, nodding, and padded closer.

“Double bladed. Strong, not thin- I need something that can pierce rocklike defense, as well as survive my strength. And not so large that it would be awkward for me to wield.”

“Hmmm… don’t think I’ve ever made a sword meant to be wielded in the mouth.”

I huffed. “I don’t think anyone has. Even my original blade, and the ultra greatsword that replaced it, were meant for human hands rather than the mouth of a wolf.”

“Truth.” He began sorting through his collection of blades, examining them one by one, and setting them aside.

Many of his weapons would be flat out impractical for me to wield, too large or too small- rapiers were right out, I wasn’t using anything bigger than a longsword in this form, and daggers wouldn’t be all that much better than my teeth and claws against the things that infested Lordran. Polearms I didn’t even consider for a moment.

For my weight and size, something like a… an arming sword, or maybe a bastard sword…? No, the latter would be too big. A longsword, just with a bit more weight and size? I mused over it as Andre sorted through his stock, teasing out a few weapons every so often as he did. Casting my eyes over them, I saw that he’d come to much the same conclusion that I had. Blades of middling size and length, and he appeared to carefully weigh each of them in turn, occasionally setting one back into the main pile, until a bare few remained. He carefully examined each of the remaining blades, grunting and muttering to himself, then finally shook his head and stood back, his arms crossed.

“Afraid I can’t narrow it down any more than this, not without ye taking them for a few swings. Have to figure what your choice in blades is, mostly from how they feel.”

I nodded, putting my paws up on the anvil to get a better look at them. The first blade was a longsword with a deep valley down the middle, inlaid with gold and intricate designs. Not a weapon that I recognized from Dark Souls proper, perhaps it was something that Andre had just held onto? Still, the crossguard was a little narrower, the blade slightly longer. It came to a tip that glittered dangerously sharp in the light of the forge. The grip was wrapped in a leather that was unusually bumpy and tough-looking, and I shot a quizzical look at Andre, who chuckled.

“Ancient dragonslaying weapon, this one, from before swordspears like Knight-captain Ornstein’s were developed. The hilt is wrapped in dragon leather, and the gold spine conducts lightning spells and integrates better with the spellwork that sustains them.”

Lightning damage? Something to consider. That had been my favorite damage type in the game- besides sentimentality, damage that could conduct past armour and through weapons was something that could be very useful.

The second was a broadsword. The steel was shorter and squatter, wider along the blade and widening nearly to the width of the crossguard at the hilt. This was more worn than the others, with well-oiled but aged leather wrapping that was ridged for a better grip. It wasn’t as intricate, but what it lacked in looks, it appeared to make up for in strength. Shallow scars were scattered across the flat, but the edge was sharp and smooth, and the steel had a deadly shine to it.

The third and last sword was… huh. I blinked at it. A golden basket hilt around a similarly-golden grip, a steel pommel, and a long, curved blade. A saber? I frowned, thinking about it. Sabers were mostly used for chopping and cutting, if I recalled correctly, a combination of weight and leverage behind a single edge, with a curved blade ensuring that the cutting edge remained in contact with the enemy for as long as possible. Not as good against armour, but… it might work very well for my style. Though, come to think of it, a katana might work better for- no, I dismissed that. Weilding a sword in my mouth was impractical enough for my tastes already.

The saber was… interesting, to be sure, but I’d never been very fond of that particular style of blade. Andre had most likely selected it for the curved blade and ability to slash, given that I would struggle to chop with it, but I doubted that I had the leverage or flexibility to press the entire blade against whatever I was trying to hurt unless they were very large. Which… to be fair, that described quite a few of the creatures native to Lordran. Still, my eyes were turned more towards the first two options.

The broadsword was something that I considered, for a few long moments. The shorter length would make it easier to handle, especially in some of the tiny corridors scattered throughout Lordran, and the fact that it hadn’t compromised on weight for that reduction in length was important to my efforts to swing and stab with it. However, ultimately, it was a lump of relatively ordinary metal. I needed something special, that could close the gap, something that could work with and augment my natural strength.

Really, there was only one realistic option.

----------------------------------------

The Hollow turned towards me and let out a moan, shuffling and stumbling in my direction, barely holding on to its broken sword or its worn shield. I let it get closer, raise its arm for a swing, but the moment its hand came down I’d darted around the clumsy, mindless blow and was behind it. I leapt, jerking my head, and the hollow screamed, writhing in place as arcs of electricity conducted through its armour from the slash I’d made across its legs. It fell, twitching, and I turned my head to the side, driving my blade through its rotted armour. It spasmed, then surrendered its tiny little collection of souls with a final gasp, falling to the ground. I yanked the sword from its corpse, briefly considered cleaning it with its armour, then reconsidered when I realized that, of the two, my sword was much cleaner.

The three Hollows just outside the little cathedral had been a good testbed for my new sword. I watched through one eye appreciatively as little sparks of electricity arced down the blade; it really was quite beautiful.

Andre had let the blade go practically for a song, just taking a small clump of Soul for it. He seemed regretful about letting it go, but had remarked that it was better for a sword to be used than for it to sit around gathering dust. The sorts of swords that sat on a wall were not the sort of swords that he kept around, and sentimentality or not, he rathered this one being out and about, performing its intended work. My teeth tightened around the dragon leather, but couldn’t pierce it- suppose that was another advantage of using this weapon, versus the others. I still hadn’t quite managed Sif’s little trick with flipping the blade around in the opposite direction, but that was mainly because of the fact that I didn’t want to risk dropping it and looking like a fool. I had a reputation to uphold, after all.

A few quick steps, and I was in the cathedral. Attracting the attention of the Baldur knights hanging out in the entrance area was easy, and they shuffled after me with the clinking of armour and weaponry. One thrust his rapier at me, and I knocked it aside with my blade, causing him to stumble. Before the Hollow could recover, I dashed past him, slicing his side open through his rusted armour- something that I couldn’t have hoped to do with claws and teeth alone, especially not in this form. As the lightning arcing through him made him twitch and spasm, I darted at the other two, moving much faster than your typical Undead and carrying the approximate force behind my blade of a pickup truck. The sheer force and the strength of the blade in my mouth meant that I smashed it right through the thin waist of one of them, slicing them neatly in half before turning on the last, who was pacing and trying to keep their shield between themselves and me. In the corner of my eye, I could see the first knight struggling to his feet.

Rapidly, I feinted left, as if I was trying to sweep towards the side unprotected by their shield. Dangerous, yes, but I’d already demonstrated that I was more than capable of dodging or parrying their blades- not that there was enough higher thought left in there to recognize that. These things were basically automatons, fighting on a combination of instincts and reflexes. Thus, the Hollow’s response to my feint was to move the shield slightly to their right, and prepare to stab me with their straight sword. My claws scraped on stone as I killed my momentum in an instant, springing forwards and slamming myself bodily into the knight’s shield, hearing the crunch of the bones in their arm shattering as I did so. Their shield arm fell limp and useless as they stumbled backwards, and it was a simple matter to dart in close and shove my blade through its chest. It fell with a crackle of lightning, and I yanked out my blade, turning just in time to see the rapier coming for me and duck out of the way.

The last knight was the only one that I was somewhat wary of. While it… okay, what were these things? They weren’t really people, they were Hollows, ex-people, meat robots, and I had no real idea of how to refer to them anyway. No indications of gender. ‘It’ should work, I don’t think these things had enough left in them to be offended. Anyway, while it was alone and somewhat injured, this was one of the two knights in this building that demonstrated the capability to parry. I didn’t know what that would do to me, but I didn’t really want to get stabbed regardless, so I had to be at least somewhat wary. Wait for it to overextend and punish it, the order of the day.

It paced in a circle, and I matched it, watching it carefully. It had its rapier up in a high guard position, pointing towards me, which definitely meant that it was waiting for me to get impatient and try to take a swing. At which point, of course, it would parry and riposte. I ran my tongue along the ridged leather of the grip, watching it carefully as I matched it, step for step. Four legs against two.

In all honesty, I was toying with it. There was no possible way that it could stand up to me brute forcing this encounter: even with it attempting to riposte, I think I could put enough brute force behind the blow to shatter either its arm or its worn and rusted blade. Still, I wasn’t here to force my way through, I was here to try out the blade and my ability to wield it, an experiment that had gone rather well thus far. Plus… I had to admit, this sort of challenge was the reason I’d enjoyed Dark Souls so much in the first place, though I had a little more on the line now than a few soft Humanity and some Souls.

Finally, perhaps reaching the end of its patience- or maybe forgetting that it was waiting for me to attack entirely- the knight stepped forwards and stabbed. In this case, its reflexes served it poorly, as I ducked under the blade, moved closer in a few quick steps, then drove my sword through its side. It let out a rattling gasp, then I twisted my sword and it expired, going limp and breathing out its tiny store of Souls. I drew my sword out, giving a satisfied nod, and continued through the exit gates.

The Hollows in the road leading up to the chapel were easy to deal with, in comparison. Little armour and terrible weapons made them speed bumps, more than challenges, and the archers quickly discovered that having ranged weapons didn’t help them when your target has the sheer strength and agility to leap right up to where you are and tear you apart. Thus, it wasn’t very long before I found myself at the base of the steps leading up the tower.

I took a deep breath, then breathed it out around the hilt. I turned, moving my shoulder to align the half-sheath strapped to my side. It was something that Andre had assembled out of bits of metal and leather he’d had lying around, a sheath that would allow me to press the sword down into it instead of sliding the whole blade into a long metal or leather tube, which would be impossible with my anatomy. Unless tugged, hard, the sword was locked into position by a small mechanism. I was impressed that he’d put it together that fast, but he’d remarked that he’d been thinking about the problem since I was mentioned to him, and this had been a small-scale prototype he’d been tooling around with.

I took a deep breath in, and let it out. Thankfully, in this case, the stakes were lower than the last time I’d crossed paths with a Black Knight- and this time, of course, it was purposeful on my part. If they attacked, I could most likely dodge and run- even if I lost this avatar… well, I wasn’t sure what would happen, precisely, but it wouldn’t be a complete loss. Ultimately, though I doubted I could pull it off again- at least not the same way I’d done it before- the avatar was disposable.

I breathed out, then walked into the tower and began ascending the steps, quietly as I could. Ideally, I wanted to get as close as possible before the Black Knight noticed me, so that I could properly parley without them taking a swing before I was ready. Taking them by surprise was a concern, but I didn’t think that they’d go that far from their post-

“I saw you approach the tower, Lady Sif. You may be sure that I mean no harm so long as you do not.”

I froze, halfway up the tower’s winding staircase. The voice had echoed down from above, deep and most definitely male. He’d seen-!? Argh, of course he had, he had a straight line of sight from up there, had probably been watching me from the moment I came out of Andre’s tower, stupid! I bared my teeth, then stood up straight, taking a deep breath in through my nose and trying to make myself as dignified as possible. Sure, he’d seen me, but he wasn’t chasing me with a halberd and trying to make me a smear on the stone, which I took as an encouraging sign. I could be magnanimous in defeat, and it most definitely served me to. I ascended the rest of the staircase without bothering with stealth, then finally rose through the opening to the top of the tower.

The Black Knight was standing with his back to me, his halberd leaning against the battlements at his side. Far enough that I could clearly see that it was out of his hands, close enough that he could snatch it up in an instant and round on me. A combination of an olive branch and an implicit threat. I resisted the urge to swallow nervously, and turned towards the knight’s armoured back. His helmet turned towards his shoulder, and through the visor, I thought I caught a glimpse of something- a bit of light, reflecting off an eye.

“Lady Sif.”

“Sir knight.” I said back, smoothly as I could.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

We were both silent for a long, extended moment. I could almost feel the knight sizing me up, though whether it was as an old comrade he hadn’t seen in some time, as someone who’d heard of me but never met me or estimating how easy I’d be to put down, I couldn’t tell. His armoured hands rested on the stone of the battlement in front of him, the metal scarred and burned black. The Black Knight spearwoman I’d seen once in my full form and once in this avatar, sitting down, and both in the dim twilight that was Darkroot’s constant state. Here, I was so very, very small compared to my full form, and the light was more akin to day than to perpetual twilight.

The knight cut an imposing figure, here, towering far over me. I was perhaps equal with his knees, and I knew that my shoulders were about at the waist of a human. Across a short battlement, even with his back to me, he loomed over me, a solid hunk of black metal and dark leather. I could completely believe that this was one of the ones that dealt first-handed with demons, and fought dragons at Gwynn’s side.

Finally, his helmet turned away from me and towards the Parish below. His hands came off of the battlement, and I tensed for a bare second before he folded them behind his back. I resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief: I wasn’t anywhere close to out of the woods. Not yet.

“It’s been long since I’ve seen anything more than Hollows, and the Undead that harvest them. So, it is surprising to find you here, particularly… not in person.”

He knew-? Hrm. I paused for a bare moment, then opened my mouth to respond.

“I must apologize for that. I fear that there were not many doorways between where I am and here that could accommodate me.” my gaze flickered across his armoured back. If he found the half-joke amusing, he didn’t show it. “Still… I felt it was vital to approach you.”

“Vital enough that you would come to me with a fragment of your strength?”

I paused, examining him. The armour he wore made him entirely impenetrable, and through it, I doubted I could read his mood- even if he didn’t have all of the body language of a steel rod. Was he probing for something?

“I fear that my true body is engaged elsewhere, in other business.”

“Then Knight Artorias’ grave stands empty, for the first time in centuries.” I narrowed my eyes. His tone was casual, but there was something about it I disliked.

“I would not leave Lord Artorias’ grave unguarded.”

“And I would not suggest that the Lady Sif I knew would. But, then again, it has been some time, hasn’t it? Perhaps we should reacquaint ourselves. After all, it wouldn’t do to assume that your presence here is due to a lack of… mindfulness.”

There was a spark of anger in my chest. I pushed it down. “I assure you, sir knight, that I am as mindful of my duties as I have been these past centuries. I have not forgotten my service.”

“Have you not?” He turned towards me. “His gravestone stands unguarded. Who fills the house when the wolf is gone, I wonder? Petty Undead?” Curiosity, idle and passing. I didn’t buy it.

“I dearly hope that you aren’t questioning my courage.”

“Should I?” He inclined his head slightly. “I have seen you but fight a scattering of Hollow in a form not your own. When one risks nothing, how can one say that they are courageous?”

“I risk plenty.”

“You wield Andre’s work.”

I blinked from the sudden topic change. The sword?

“... Yes. The blade from my youth was lost, long ago, and necessitated replacement.”

“Well. To admit such openly… I suppose I cannot say you lack courage, though perhaps of the wrong sort.” He flicked a glove hand, and I had to suppress a twitch. “To carry such a thing to me indicates bravery, perhaps. In some interpretations.” My toes flexed.

“If I have done something to offend, sir knight-”

He held up a gauntleted hand. “It would not be me you would be offending, and thus your apologies are unnecessary.” He lowered his hand. “Now, whether or not you have offended… that is the question, mm?”

Wait, was-? Loyalty. He was questioning Sif’s loyalty. But to whom? Who would be the person offended? Gwynn? Gwynevere? Gwyndolin? For all I knew, the individual I might be ‘offending’ could be Velka, Flann, even Seath. I had to tread lightly, here. The language… offense and offending could indicate a link to Velka. There was even another Velka loyalist in Oswald, practically a stone’s throw away. The question was whether a Black Knight would feel more strongly drawn to the goddess of sin, the Sunlight Throne, or to the service of Gwynn himself. While he tested my loyalties, I would have to test his. I shrugged a shoulder, waving a paw in a motion that would require more manual dexterity than your average wolf possessed.

“... How would one know that I have crossed such a line?”

“You are here, are you not? This is not the place the gods ordained to you, nor have I heard any whisper of new divine direction passed down from the seat of Anor Londo.”

“My place was not one ordained by the gods. My station was one I requested for myself. My loyalties are not what is in question.”

“And yet, you rise from Andre’s tower, with Andre’s blade, and I most definitely saw your phantom fighting besides that of one of the Sunlight heretics.” Casually, he laid one hand on the shaft of his halberd, helmet turned directly towards me. “So, Lady Sif… would you care to explain?”

Sunlight-? The gargoyles. He’d seen Solaire. But why would- no, wait, he was here. Directly behind me was the Sunlight altar, where one could pledge to Gwyn’s nameless firstborn and the Sunlight covenant. The first bell of the Undead’s gods-given challenge, the Sunlight altar, Andre’s tower, all conveniently visible from this spot. None of that was a coincidence. I would have to commit and hope I could pull it out.

“My loyalty, as it ever has been, is to Knight Artorias, and the Sunlight Throne, not the whelp that sits upon it, nor those that abandon Gwyn’s legacy at the first sight of fading Flame.”

His hand tightened around the haft with the sound of straining steel.

“Be very careful now, Lady Sif. Thou art in dangerous territory.”

“Am I? Tell me, sir. Your knightly order, the great Black Knights… are you sworn to the cowards that fled before the demons and hid behind Gwyn’s skirts? Or perhaps to Gwyn’s mewling pups, playing at being rulers in the empty castles the Sunlight Lord left behind?” Oh, this was wild, this could get me killed, but it felt… right. “Let me tell you. When I swore my fealty and strength to Lord Gwyn, perhaps it didn’t mean quite as much as when my master did, but it was meant in every way. You and I, we share a liege lord- test my loyalty in any way you feel you must, but I warn you, do not forget that.”

His thumb rubbed a circular pattern in the metal of his halberd’s shaft, but his hand didn’t move from it. For a few long moments, I fought the instinct to tense, to be ready for a swing, resisting the urge to draw my blade before he went to strike. In these cramped quarters, he would only need one blow to kill my avatar, and I wasn’t entirely certain that I could ward it off.

“What is your intention, then, that you both claim loyalty to our Lord, and yet fight alongside the Undead?”

I glanced at his hand. It hadn’t moved from the haft, but it had stopped making the circular motion, and wasn’t gripping it quite so hard. Perhaps I was making headway, but it wouldn’t do to be overly confident in my position.

“I intend to rally what strength is left in Lordran and march it to Anor Londo, to see what is left of the god’s order. To ask of them if this is what they truly intended, if there was no better way.” Not that any would be there to answer, besides Ornstein, Smough and Gwyndolin.

“And if the throne stands empty?”

“Then I will make a claim to it myself. If the gods will abandon us so, we cannot trust them to lead us.”

He brought up his other hand, finger pointing at me. “Thou art straying dangerously close to rebellion against the gods. To follow in the footsteps of the traitor Havel is a dangerous path that would see us foes, Lady Sif, and neither of us wishes to see that.”

“Is it rebellion when the palace stands empty? If there are no gods left to rebel against, what meaning does rebellion have?” I have to prime this. Gwyndolin, bless his heart, still sits the throne, though he is no divine leader. “And if one lonely god sits in Anor Londo, what then? Who is a ruler with no one to rule? What matter is divinity with no worshippers? Clearly,” I turned my head to the battlements to his side, “whatever plan the gods may have had, if they had one at all, is doing nothing for the fading Fire and the abandoned subjects they left in their wake, those that they promised to protect.”

“And yet, if that lonely god orders me to strike you down for your sedition, Lady Sif, then I will do so.”

“Then perhaps the idea that I am asking you to accompany me at all is an indication of my continued loyalty to the Sunlight Throne. We are not enemies, sir knight, merely in disagreement. All I need know is whether you will follow me into the god’s domain when I ask.”

He stood for a long moment, thumb back to making circular motions on the haft of his halberd. Finally, he released it, his hand falling to his side.

“You are either a suicidal heretic or… hm.” He folded his arms behind his back, helm staring down at me. “So be it. When you ask, I will come. Still, I cannot begin to guess why you would want such strength of arms, but to cast down the Sunlight Throne, as others have tried to do.”

“Simple enough to answer.” I raised my head high. “I intend to prevent the fading of the First Flame, and whether I serve they who sit upon it or make a claim to it myself, all the gods in the world will gather here to Anor Londo, either to oust the line of Gwyn or cast me down and take the throne for their own. I cannot allow that to happen.”

“Brave. Dangerous, perhaps even borderline heretical, but brave. Wielding one of Andre’s blades surely suits you- at least it announces your lack of fear before you open your mouth.”

“I cannot decide whether that is a compliment or an insult.”

He waved a gauntleted hand, turning back to the battlements and gazing down at the Undead Parish. “Take it as a compliment. Few enough are those both brave and ambitious enough to even entertain such things, and I hope that it does not see you on the wrong end of a blade. Call for me when you breach Sen’s Fortress, Lady Sif, and I will see with you what remains of the god’s strength in Anor Londo.”

----------------------------------------

I shook myself. My avatar walked away from the tower, towards the Firelink Shrine, but I had something else to concentrate on. Specifically, moving my considerable bulk through Darkroot and towards Darkroot Basin, where my goal lay.

Navigating the zig-zag path down the cliff face was only easier than it had been before by dint of experience with it, and even then, there were a couple of moments where I sent gravel and plant matter tumbling into the abyss. Some part of me hoped it landed right on the heads of the drakes down there on the bridge, if only because the idea of annoying them gave me a flicker of vindictive pleasure. They weren’t hard to fight in the game, precisely, but they were annoying.

Still, I made it to the Basin without any real hiccups. There, amongst the trees at the base of the cliff, I noted that the crystal golems that inhabited the area had replenished themselves, perhaps still hunting for female Hunters- or, perhaps, searching for the crystal golem that had trapped the princess. I was never completely clear on why that one had never returned to Seath with its prize; after all, the other yellow crystal golem appears right about Seath’s crystal pit, obviously delivering its prisoner with all speed. This one, however, simply lurked down here in the water, skulking just outside of the notice of the Hydra.

I hummed to myself as I plowed through one of the golems, sending scillanting shards of crystal flying in all directions. Perhaps that was why it hadn’t left? Maybe Seath had given them some sort of self-preservation programming for when they actually had a captive, made them shy away from threats? If that was so, then the Hydra could’ve kept the thing bottled up all by itself, which meant that I might not be able to wait for Celia to kill it. I’d have to do it myself, before the thing skulked off to make its delivery. Though, come to think of it, that could cause some issues; Dusk was contactable in the games because she linked herself to the Chosen Undead by twisting the magic of the white soapstone, allowing her to be pulled into this realm to teach the Chosen Undead lost magic of Oolacile. Without an Undead present for her to form a connection with, she may not be able to anchor herself to me.

I had a theory that the white soapstones used the bonfire network to warp time and space, allow Undead to draw forth phantom representations of people into their worlds and assist them in fighting threats that they could not overcome on their own. If such a theory panned out, that would explain why I was incapable of seeing summon signs myself, and why I had to brute force the one that I’d made. If that was true, then it could be very well that Dusk wouldn’t be able to form a connection with me, and even if she could, I wouldn’t be able to pull her through into this world- if I could even see the summon sign she’d plant, which I very much doubted I would be able to.

I made a frustrated sound in the back of my throat. The absolute perfect time to have Big Hat Logan, interested as he would be in the lost magic of Oolacile, and he’s still stuck in a rusty cage in Sen’s Fortress. Greatest magic genius in generations, rotting away in the funhouse, just out of my reach because of a big door and some high walls. It was infuriating.

The last of the crystal golems fell to pieces under a body slam, and I left the crystals coating the ground as I walked to the shore of the Basin lake. Squinting across the water, I caught a glimmer in the cave opposite in the dim light of Darkroot, something yellow and shiny moving in the darkness. Well, I suppose that meant that I wasn’t too late to kill the thing, but now I wasn’t sure what to do. If I killed it and my theory panned out, then there was no way for Dusk to anchor herself in this time, and I wasn’t sure how that would affect the closed time loop that was the end of Oolacile or Dusk’s fate.

I stuck my paw in the water, feeling the shifting wet sand of the lake bottom, then walked out into the water, making sure to mind the sheer dropoff into water of unknown depth that the Hydra had wallowed in. The shore was covered with chunks of half-rotted scales and flesh, but thankfully, the water itself was relatively clean, the sand under my paws mostly virgin- so far as I could tell. Given the lack of stink the water had, considering that the Hydra had inhabited it not long ago, I had to wonder if there was some kind of magic keeping it that way.

I shook my head. A question for another time.

I picked my way along the rocks and sand of the shoreline until I found a place where I could wedge myself somewhat comfortably among the rocks, then lay down to wait, guarding the only exit to the huge cavern. If the golem wanted to get out, then it would have to get past me.

----------------------------------------

I walked my avatar down the steps into Andre’s little domain, the comforting ring of his hammer on steel sounding clearly through the entire tower. As I came down into his sweltering little lair, I was surprised to see Celia watching him closely, as Siegmeyer perused Andre’s stock. The sword on the anvil I recognized as Celia’s, Andre using his hammer to work titanite into the blade, improving it as he did. I reached the bottom of the stairs, then cleared my throat, causing Siegmeyer and Celia to glance over.

“Ah!” Siegmeyer put down the stiletto he’d been examining and turned towards me, taking a few steps forwards, seeming fascinated. “Lady Sif- in your new form, as well! Sir Andre had told us that you had inhabited an avatar, but to see it in person is quite something else than hearing about it!”

“Please, m’not a knight, jus’ a humble blacksmith from Astora.”

Andre chuckled deeply, quenching Celia’s blade in a barrel of water, then holding it up and examining the blade closely, before turning it to see the other side. In his huge hands, the thing seemed more like a toy than a real sword, the hilt short enough that the pommel barely poked out from the bottom of his closed fist. After a thorough examination, he nodded to himself, taking a cloth and cleaning the blade carefully before holding it out hilt first to Celia, who took it.

“I’d suggest practicin’ with it again. The blade’s balance has changed slightly- titanite’s lighter than steel, but integrating even just a few shards was ‘nough for me to adjust the weight in the hilt to make up for it.”

“Thank you, sir Andre. I’m afraid I need all the advantages that I can get.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “You paid yer fee, that’s all I ask from ye.” He turned to me, his eyes flickering across the blade at my side, nodding. “I see ye’ve been using the blade, Lady Sif?”

“A beautiful blade it is, too.” Siegmeyer waved his fingers at the hilt, helmetless head turned towards me, his eyebrows raised. “Might I…?” I nodded, and he tugged at the sword, pulling it from its sheath. He hefted it, settling into different stances and attempting some slow moving chops and slashes, before nodding appreciatively. “It’s a fine blade, to be sure. Perhaps one of the finest I’ve seen, and worthy of its wielder.”

Andre snorted. “Should hope so, one of my best works, that is. Well, one of the best I’ve got here, anyways.” He looked towards me. “So, how’s it been working for ye? Looking to swap fer one of the others, see how they do ye?”

I shook my head in reply.

“No, I don’t believe I will. The blade suits my purposes perfectly, and I feel it will for some time- though I would appreciate it if you could improve it, should I gather the titanite to do so.”

“Hm, that one’s a bit complicated. Magic weapons, y’see- they take a special kind o’titanite. Green. Stuff that’s been so seeped in magic tha’ it conducts it like nothing else. Normal titanite will interfere with the spellwork, y’see.” Andre pointed at the blade. “Be careful wi’ it, though. Had to have another blacksmith help me with makin’ it in the first place- lightning ain’t my speciality, divine is.”

Another blacksmith? Ah, maybe the giant, the one that can ascend lightning weapons. Would make sense.

“Understood. I’ll keep a watchful eye out for any I see. Thank you, ‘sir’ Andre.”

He grimaced at the title, even as the edges of my mouth twitched upwards, then took another weapon from his pile and began working on it, studiously ignoring us. I recognized when I was being dismissed, even if Andre would protest that it wasn’t meant in that way, and glanced towards the Undead.

“If you would like to accompany me, there is something that I fear that I need assistance with.”

“Hah, Lady Sif, spoiling us with another adventure. Tell me, what are we to accomplish this time? Perhaps slay a great dragon? Rescue a princess?”

I grinned wolfishly. “Funny you should say that…”

----------------------------------------

“An honest-to-gods princess.” Siegmeyer shook his head.

“I’m surprised you haven’t rescued any before now, knight Siegmeyer. Protecting vulnerable princesses from horrible monsters seems to me the thing that would be right up your alley.”

Celia grinned. “Maybe it’s because a princess can’t drink ale and share boisterous stories? You do tend to keep a specific type of company, Siegmeyer.”

The knight harrumphed in mock indignation. “I shall have you know that I have heard at least one drinking song with a princess as a victor.” he waved his hand at us. “You both should do well to remember that appearances deceive!”

“Yes, you’d rather be the prime example of that, sirrah.” Celia teased. Siegmeyer made a noise that was almost unidentifiable, bouncing around inside the metal confines of his helmet.

“And what is THAT supposed to mean, young miss!?” He turned his head forwards, muttering. “Perhaps I’ve been going too easy. Think you need a good, solid sword training regimine, teach you to respect your elders.”

Celia just shook her head, putting on her helmet and buckling it down.

Walking down the same way my larger body had just come was rather strange. Everything appeared different when I was this small, and I had a strange, backwards sort of recollection of comparing my childhood memories to a place I was visiting as an adult. I could clearly see the paw prints I’d left in the loam, the claw marks where I’d nearly slipped here and there.

“Whoof, what prints! We should be careful, could be a gigantic beast lurking about, waiting to devour us!” Siegmeyer chuckled warmly as Celia snorted.

I merely rolled my eyes and chuffed. Wasn’t I supposed to be divine? Did divinities always have to put up with this ribbing?

Celia drew her sword and Siegmeyer tightened his grip as we reached the end of the path and the entrance into Darkroot Basin, but it appeared that a fresh wave of crystal golems had yet to appear, and the area was still empty of threats. Still, the two remained on alert, peering between the trees, weapons at the ready. I couldn’t help but feel approval for their readiness: even in the safest portions of Lordran, one had to be wary. There were a multitude of threats disguised as all manner of relatively normal things.

“The golem we are hunting lies in a cave on the other side of the lake. My larger form is guarding the exit, but it only attempted to escape once, before slinking back into the safety of the darkness when it noted that I was there. It is no different from any other crystal golem in terms of its strength, intelligence or otherwise, but I would still counsel caution.” I pointed my muzzle up the rocky shore, to where my large body was peering into the dark cavern. “My avatar will leave you here.”

They nodded to me, stepping into the water and beginning to make their way towards the other me. I watched them for a few moments, then turned and walked off towards the tower shortcut into the Undead Parish.

My larger me’s ears flicked as they approached, but I didn’t take my eyes off the cavern itself.

“So, Lady Sif. I fear that you forgot to tell us why you cannot fight the creature yourself.” Siegmeyer shrugged. “It is no great thing, and if what you said about it is true, it should really be no more of a challenge than the other golems that infest this place.”

“I am afraid that brute strength cannot win this battle- not in a way that has a happy ending.” I glanced down at the two of them. Siegmeyer seemed perfectly comfortable in the water, but Celia was clearly not happy with it, her fingers tightening around her sword’s hilt every time water sloshed around in her boots. “Seath’s golden crystal golems… while I am unsure what truly differs them from their blue siblings, I do know that they- more often than not- contain captured people. It is how Seath imports his test subjects. From glimpses I have had of this one, I identified royal dress, leading me to the ‘princess’ theory, and we cannot allow them to fall into Seath’s grasp.” I flexed my paws. “While I am without a doubt strong enough to easily overcome it in this form, I fear that I might injure or kill the person within as I did so. And while my avatar might have the precision to do so without hurting or killing the captive, I am not especially practiced in swordplay at that size anymore- not to mention the fact that I would be struggling to keep my head above water the entire time, and would be bogged down so as to be completely useless.”

Siegmeyer nodded in understanding. “So, you need the two of us to go in there, defeat the monster in glorious combat, and free its innocent captive.”

“Do you have to put everything in the format of an epic tale?”

I spoke up before Siegmeyer had a chance to reply. “Correct. The two of you are absolutely far more than enough to down this particular beast- mainly, I wanted to ensure the well-being of the person within.”

“We’ll have it done, milady! Come along, Celia, let’s show this beast its place!”

“Ah! Yes, knight Siegmeyer!”

Siegmeyer charged the cavern’s entrance as quick as he could, given the water and sand pulling down his every step, and Celia rushed to follow. The old adventurer’s experience and training appeared to be paying dividends, and as I stepped off of my dry perch and into the water to follow them, I heard her already beginning to huff breaths inside her helmet.

As we approached the cave entrance, I saw the golem farther in retreat slightly, before seeming to realize that it was against a wall with no other way out. I slowed in the entrance, blocking it to prevent the golem from getting past the two of them and making a break for Seath’s domain, while Siegmeyer and Celia moved forwards to engage it, Celia raising her shield and holding her sword out, ready to strike.

The golem hesitated for a bare few moments, the silhouette of a person clearly visible inside its torso. Then, once the two of them had gotten close enough, it suddenly dug one of its legs into the sandy cave bottom and charged forwards, pushing a wave of water in front of it. Its limbs grew crystal spikes as it swung, attempting to smash Siegmeyer where he stood, but the man moved faster than either his apparent bulk or his age belied, rolling into the water and to the side. The golem’s clublike arms smashed into the water, creating a huge splash, making Celia retreat a step or two as the wave hit her. The moment she stopped stumbling, however, she dug her own heels in, pushing herself into a half-run in the water and rapidly closing the distance, swinging her sword at the golem’s arm, part of which shattered on contact with the blad, producing a ringing noise that echoed through the cavern.

The golem let out a strange, ringing shriek, then tried to backhand the offending attacker. Celia had her shield up in a flash, grunting loudly enough for me to hear as it collided with it with a loud CLANG, sending her back a step as Siegmeyer closed from the other side. A thunderous overhand blow from his zweihander shattered the golem’s right arm, sending it plunking into the water with another shriek from the golem itself.

Outnumbered and surrounded on both sides, the golem appeared to realize that things weren’t really going in its favour, and started attempting to run through the water towards me. I slammed a paw down into the water, creating a huge splash, and growled. The golem balked, most likely out of some sort of self-preservation programming rather than actual fear, which gave Siegmeyer and Celia just enough time to catch up to it. A heavy chop from Celia’s sword to its leg brought its attention back to them, and as it stumbled back, its arm extended into a battering ram of yellow crystal that it swung in a wide arc, trying to drive the two back- except that the leverage behind the blow was terrible. Celia braced and met it shield first, causing the club to shatter into shards like shrapnel on the metal surface, scattering the water with a hundred tiny splashes as they landed. The golem stumbled back, now down one and a half arms, frantically trying to regrow what it had, try to buy enough time for it to somehow get past me- as if it could, somehow.

Siegmeyer and Celia, however, were having none of it. They followed it rapidly for every step, though Celia lagged behind a few steps to take a mouthful of her estus flask, making a sound of mixed pain and relief as her shield arm straightened out. As she went to put her flask away, the golem suddenly shifted, throwing itself at her- only to be slammed from the side by Siegmeyer, his little spiked shield penetrating it, his strength and bulk making it stumble and fall to its knees in the water. The knight backstepped, then swung his zweihander again, smashing what remained of the golem’s left, leaving it defenseless. It struggled to stand again, only to have Celia come up swiftly on the other side of it, and for both of them to cut its legs out from under it.

As the golem’s limbless torso fell into the water, it began to crumble, chunks of crystal falling into the water, then followed by a huge splash as the main body fell in. As it slowly fell into smaller and smaller pieces, the figure within began to shift, then shove its way through the thin remnants of crystal and out of the water, revealing a dripping, slightly shivering and, judging from her face, extremely grateful Princess Dusk.

As she got her bearings and began speaking to Celia and Siegmeyer, words that I couldn’t quite make out from here with how soft her voice was, I breathed a sigh of relief. Without Dusk, a lot of things got a lot more complicated- if she died here, I wasn’t entirely sure that she would exist in the past for Manus to kidnap her. If he didn’t kidnap her… well, maybe the pendant would still lure Manus back in, but given that it only appeared after you had rescued Dusk… well, it didn’t matter anyway, Dusk being safe and sound.

The three of them said their goodbyes, the two Undead and the human princess, as she faded out of existence and returned to her proper era. I watched as the last bits of her phantom figure disappeared into the Darkroot mists, then turned and started the process of plodding back through the water towards the shore. I didn’t think there was much my larger body could do, at this point, and thus… well, maybe it was time to figure out how Sif wielded the huge version of Artorias’ blade.