“I was told you wished to speak with me, sister mine?”

My ear twitched in Alvina’s direction, and my eyes followed. The cat was stretched luxuriously across the crossguard of a greatsword thrust into the moist soil, though how that possibly worked I didn’t want to know. Still, the ever-present sharpness in her eyes was no different as she watched me closely.

I set my mockup of Artorias’ greatsword down, rolling my shoulders and neck to get out the kinks. The greatsword was quite a bit different from the longsword that I’d obtained from Andre; even though it was around the same relative size to my larger body as the longsword was to my avatar, there were a lot of differences in the wielding. More mass, more weight, more momentum- it toyed with my reactions, made me respond in different ways. I also had to remember that I was wielding a piece of steel that could probably kill through sheer mass alone, something to track that my smaller body didn’t even have to think about. Thus, practice with the blade.

“I do, yes.” I’d sent Roland with a summons to my arena. The Forest Hunter knight had been hanging closer to me since we’d fought the false Havel, for reasons I wasn’t sure of yet, but it had proved useful. “There are things that we must discuss, things that aren’t for just any ears.”

“Oh, well, when there is gossip, sister, I am all of them.” Alvina grinned at her own joke, tail slowly waving back and forth underneath her.

“Seath sits in Anor Londo and remains active in Lordran at large.”

Alvina tensed, smile vanishing and eyes narrowing. Her tail paused in its metronome-like motion, then picked it up again, though the tension didn’t go out of the rest of her body.

“Art thou certain?” Her voice was hard and serious, none of the usual whimsical tones that I’d come to associate with her.

“There is no doubt. One channeler and the crystal golems means nothing, the former could just be a representative keeping an eye on things- Gwyn knows the gods have sent plenty. Even Velka has placed a Pardoner before the first bell. The latter could simply be the golems continuing in their orders despite lacking their master.” I turned fully to face her, sitting on the moist grass, my own tail swaying. “However, my smaller form accompanying Celia and Siegmeyer has fought a second channeler watching over a corrupted dragon- a true dragon, or, at least, what was left of it. And then, there was Seath’s agent.”

“Domhnall?” There was an amount of surprise in her voice. “Certainly not- ah, but tricksters are as tricksters do…” Her face turned contemplative. “Truly, would not have been the greatest sleight of hand to ensure he survived the fall of Havel’s plot, even as he twisted those within to their deaths. I had thought- ah, but if he was there…”

“There, and explicitly there for Seath’s purposes. Guarding the gate from the Depths into Blighttown, watching for those who would challenge the dragon. It’s no coincidence that he was placed at the crossroads of the Depths, where he could track every route in and out of it.”

“And your response, sister? I am sure you would not leave such a loose end unbatted. It is not in your nature to play coy with those you think oppose you.” She smirked toothily. “The nature of a wolf, I suppose.”

“He confirmed that Seath is still directing his agents, albeit indirectly, if what he said can be trusted. The duke hasn’t moved against us, not in any visible way, but I think it’s only a matter of time. He’ll watch and see what cause benefits him the most before deciding who to side with.”

“Unreliable.” She muttered.

“You’re one to talk, Alvina.”

“Oh, but sister, you wound me with your uncharitable words!” She held a paw over her chest, but that did nothing to address the grin stretching her lips. “Still, I will step up the vigilance of the Hunters. Seath has many fingers, and many of his agents are cunning and subtle. Perhaps we won’t find all of them, but I am sure that any crystals will stand out among our number, ripe for the plucking.”

“Havel’s compatriots must have thought that as well.”

“Do you mean to imply that I have all the subtlety of a man who believes he’s a stone golem? For shame, sister mine! And here I thought that you might have faith in me!”

“I do, only-” I hesitated. “Watch out for yourself, Alvina. I don’t wish to guard your grave as well.”

The cat gave me a look that was reserved, thoughtful. She nodded slowly.

“I can do that at least, Sif, so long as you do the same for me.”

With that, she vanished into the mists of Darkroot. I sat alone in Sif’s arena, accompanied only by the many swords and Artorias’ grave. I sighed, pushing myself to my feet and padding forwards across the grass, to the slab of stone in the center of it all.

The rock was worn by weather and time, but I could still pick out where Artorias’ name was inscribed on its surface. What was left of the man, one of the greatest knights in history, lay beneath my paws. It wasn’t a bad place to rest, save for the occasional invader of the silence and peace, and I wondered if Artorias would approve of it. To be laid to rest in the same arena in which he fought his final battle. I lay a paw on the foundation of the stone, and felt something prickle in my chest.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, Kn- Artorias. I don’t know if there’s an afterlife here, if there is something after death, a place where we go after our bodies expire.” I paused, hesitating slightly. “I’m not Sif, but I hope that this will stand in her stead… I’m doing my best, sir. There’s… there’s a lot out there, arrayed against us, and I don’t know if there’s enough strength in Lordran to meet it all.”

I hadn’t said any of this, hadn’t even really thought of it, because every moment I’d had was spent on something. Constant business meant no time to process, to think about things. But now, my smaller body was plumbing the Depths with Celia, Siegmeyer, and Laurentius, and my larger form had nothing to do but wait. Time I could kill with practice or training, but nothing that would distract me from my thoughts, from my fears.

“I’m… scared.” I chuckled a little bit at that. “Possessed of more physical power than I’d ever dreamed of, and magical power to match, and I’m still frightened of the future. I suppose I haven’t changed all that much.” I let that hang in the misty air for a moment. “I’d like to think that I’m living up to your legacy. That, if you were here and watching, you’d approve of my efforts, though you might not understand my motivations. I want the world to survive, I want its people to thrive, and not under a collection of so-called gods that would make them suffer for their own gain. I want to see this world, and its people, become all they can be, not suffer under an eternal cycle that slowly reduces the world to ash in a cold hearth. I just… fear that I’m not strong enough to see it through.”

I fell silent, tracing my eyes over the faded writing on the surface of the stone. The greatest of the four knights, the captain of their number, and in the end he fell to the Abyss trying to save people from their own mistake. I wonder who he’d been, that man, that famous knight. The lore wasn’t too specific about him, and I’d never met him in person. What I knew of many of the characters of Dark Souls had guided my knowledge of the people they represented, and had allowed me insight into their characters that let me guide them some. But for Artorias the Abysswalker, I knew precious little.

Would he see my fear, and comfort me? Would he understand its origin? Had he ever felt that fear himself, fighting against the dragons, the demons of the Chaos Flame, or in his final battle against the Abyss? He’d given his shield and his amulet to Sif in his last moments, to protect her against the Dark, despite the fact that it left him open to the very storm he sought to shield her from. Artorias was ever a fighter of greatsword and shield, stalwart defense and attack. To give up one and allow himself to be harmed, simply because it protected someone he cared for…

I raised my head a little. Perhaps he would approve of what I was doing, my quest to protect those that needed protecting. There were few in this world that I truly valued the thoughts of, individuals beyond parity that were as close to paragons as this world could produce. I would like to count Artorias among them, a figure of wisdom and quiet thought.

“But… I don’t think being afraid of lacking strength matters, all that much. It must be done, and therefore it will be, right? What else can I do, but stand in the way of the tide? If I can break the wave, even if it costs me everything… then wasn’t it worth it, for the world that would follow? To break the cycle, perhaps the sacrifice would be worth it. I know better than anyone else how it ends, the choked furnace filled with...” I pressed my forehead to the stone, feeling its coolness even through my fur. “Maybe that was your last lesson, to Sif. That sacrificing yourself for the good of others is the best thing that one can do.”

I sat there for a long moment, feeling the coolness of the stone and listening to the silence of the forest. I knew that, at some point, I would penetrate the Duke’s archives, and we would deal with those in Anor Londo. Retrieving Manos’ pendant would lead Celia back in time, to Oolacile, and I would follow. I would have to avoid interacting with Sif’s past self, but at least I could assist in putting Artorias to rest. It was the most that I could do for him, besides doing what good I could do now.

But that was the future, and we were nowhere near that yet. Right now, it was more important that I practice, because war was coming to Lordran whether we liked it or not. I aimed to interfere with the cycle, with the plans of the gods, and they would take exception to that. They had to, it would be a direct challenge to their power, power that they would seek to shore up through controlling Lordran and directing the process themselves, potentially even from the Sunlight Throne. I held no illusions that Flan and Gwynevere would attempt to depose Gwyndolin the moment they had opportunity and motivation to, and Gwynevere’s claim to the throne was stronger than her brother’s. And they were just the most obvious: each and every god may make attempts on their own or together, and we had to be ready.

I would have to speak to Solaire, when we saw him again. Old family feuds could not be tolerated, not when we were teetering desperately on the edge and needed every blade we could get. Hopefully, given that he was the closest thing to a leader of the Sunlight order as I could find in Lordran, he would be able to relay a message back to Gwyn’s firstborn son. If I could convince Gwyndolin to drop animosity against his elder brother and ask him to return to Lordran, then I could go myself and speak with Gwyn’s eldest as the closest thing to a neutral third party that we had. His strength, the strength of his followers, and the strength of Midir the storm drake would be incredible tools to defend Lordran. While I might have issues with Gwynevere laying claim to the throne, I would not contest a claim from Gwyn’s eldest nearly as hard, given the alignment in our goals.

For now, however, I pushed myself to my feet and made my way back to where I’d left the huge greatsword lying, stabbed into the grass. I pulled it from the ground with ease, the leather feeling familiar to my mouth as I gripped it with canine teeth. Right now, the most important thing was working to make my larger body battle-ready, to prepare for when the gods’ patience ran out and they made their plays. I swung the blade, the steel whistling through the air, and nodded in satisfaction.

I would be ready.

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

“Lady Sif?”

I blinked and shook my head, looking back at Siegmeyer, who looked somewhat concerned.

“Ah, I apologize. Alvina came to speak to my larger form, and I was distracted by the conversation.”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded in satisfaction, clearly satisfied with the answer.

We were gathered around the Depths bonfire, and attempting to decide the way forwards. Celia had used the key she’d retrieved from the corpse of the Gaping Dragon on the key to the back entrance to Blighttown, revealing the long ladder down. I, of course, had refused to climb down the ladder, and we had retreated in order to decide what to do.

“Blighttown is famous for its disease, yes? Even worse than the worst sections of the swamp.” Laurentius wove his fingers together in his lap. “I have a pyromancy technique to clear myself of poison, and Lady Sif’s waterwalking technique may save us from much exposure to the toxic muck, but that will only mitigate some of the risk.”

“I know of two entrances to Blighttown itself: this, and one from the Valley of the Drakes.” I said. “Both are fraught with their own dangers, to be sure, but I am uncertain which is the less desirable.”

“I imagine both have ladders.” Siegmeyer said levelly. I gave him a mournful look in reply, and he couldn’t help but chuckle in response. The bastard.

“Regardless of… other issues, I anticipated the problem posed by the poisonous nature of Blighttown itself. There is a merchant in the Undead Burg that I asked to retrieve a large amount of moss clumps, the best-known treatment for poison. Red is also quite useful for treating bleeding-” I suspected that it contained naturally occurring coagulents, but this wasn’t the time for speculation, “- but the purple breed is extremely useful for treating exposure to poison when consumed. The flowering type can even treat the worst kinds of poison, though it is rarer and more difficult to procure. Given that the merchant’s main trade seems to be moss, however, I had little doubt that she has access to stocks and breeding grounds for the stuff.”

“Ah, an excellent idea! After all, any adventure might go awry, and it’s best to plan for such from the outset. You have excellent foresight, Lady Sif.” Siegmeyer nodded. “We shall pool our Soul to purchase moss from this merchant, as much as we can carry. Hopefully, we will be able to use it to deal with any unforeseen issues or challenges that we might face.”

“Our goal is to reach the entrance to Lost Izalith at the far side of Blighttown. There, I imagine, lie two of the Daughters of Chaos, potentially allies that we could desperately use in this dangerous time. I would also like to visit Vamos before we go- I had asked him to produce a magical artifact for me, a ring that would allow the wearer to understand the speech of Izalith. With any luck, between my interaction with Kirk and the ring, we will be able to negotiate our way past Quelaag without a fight, and potentially secure an ally for the future.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Celia said. “Where is this merchant, anyway?”

“In the aqueduct that leads back to Firelink, behind bars at the near end, from our perspective. It should be easy; all we have to do is leave the Depths, climb the tower, and she’ll be right there. Firelink is practically right there, and I can take the elevator down to see Vamos. We can decide what entrance we wish to take into Blighttown from there.”

Celia nodded. “I think that, perhaps, you should go on ahead down to New Londo and Vamos, Lady Sif. We will haggle with the merchant, purchase the moss, and meet you in Firelink. Once there, it should be much easier to decide our eventual path.”

“For future reference,” I said, “there is an entrance to the Valley of the Drakes through New Londo. Firelink is an approximate midpoint between the two entrances, the other here in the Depths.”

“Why is it called the Valley of the Drakes?” Asked Laurentius, a curious look on his face. Siegmeyer answered the expression with a grin.

“Why do you think? It’s the roosting place of drakes, I imagine!”

I nodded, and Laurentius grimaced.

“There are a number of drakes that make their homes there, now that there is no one to drive them out anymore. If we decide to take that approach to Blighttown, then we may have to deal with them, though I believe their roosting grounds are at the opposite end of the valley. They prefer to nest near the New Londo seal.”

“Seal?”

I nodded again. “As part of its sealing and isolation, New Londo was flooded. There are great doors in one of the walls, leading out into the Valley of the Drakes, which are operated by a great mechanism. The mechanism is sealed by a number of locks, which the Sealers possess the keys for. Opening the doors would allow the waters of New Londo to flow out into the valley, draining the city and breaking the seal, allowing the lower reaches to be explored for the first time in centuries.” I tilted my head to the side. “We shall have to deal with it eventually, I suspect, but it’s not our problem at the moment. We should focus instead on Blighttown, and ringing the second Bell of Awakening. If my guess is correct, that will open the path into Sen’s Fortress, and, ultimately, the way upwards into Anor Londo.”

“You’re quite confident about this?” Celia asked, frowning in thought. I nodded my affirmation.

“This test of the gods is rigid and designed to elicit a certain process. One location to the next, to the next, to the next. I suspect that the bells can be rung in either order, but that the intention is to ring the Parish bell first, then descend into Blighttown and ring the second there. Once that is done, I believe that the portcullis blocking the entrance into Sen’s will raise, allowing us access. On the far side of the fortress, if I am recalling it correctly, there is a great stone arch, an entrance to a tunnel that climbs upwards towards Anor Londo. No doubt there is some manner of guard blocking the way, but I have every confidence that we will deal with it swiftly and easily.”

The three members of our little party nodded decisively. Celia’s face was set in determination, none of the fear that I’d seen when I first pinned her to the ground of Darkroot. Siegmeyer seemed somewhat excited, no doubt enthused by the idea of finally being able to see the seat of the god’s power in Lordran, no doubt a place that was the subject of many stories and myths. Laurentius seemed somewhat uncertain, but he glanced towards his pyromancy student, and his expression firmed some; I was confident that he would stand by us for as long as he thought he could keep up, and given his look, I imagined that would be for quite a while.

With our path decided, to the point that we could decide it from here, there was little reason to hang by the bonfire any longer. Siegmeyer and Celia retrieved their helmets from where they’d put them and buckled them on, Laurentius pushing himself to his feet and checking his various pouches at his belt to ensure that he had everything he’d brought. With little prep to do myself, I simply shifted the sheath of my sword slightly and stood.

We made our way back through the Depths faster than we’d come, navigating the explored path with speed now that we knew what to expect. A couple of slimes had found their way into the tunnel while we had been deeper in the Depths, fighting the Gaping Dragon, but they were easily and swiftly dealt with, Celia’s fireballs more than enough to cause them to burn to nothing. The third dog, the one that had run when we’d dealt with its fellows, took one look at us and bolted into the backroom where Laurentius had been trapped. Wise choice.

The archer in the tower had reappeared, or perhaps it was a different archer altogether? Regardless, Celia dealt with it with barely a pause in her stride, dodging the first arrow and smashing it with her shield before it could loose a second. The skeleton shattered on the stone floor below as her shield bash knocked it off the platform, but she didn’t stick around to watch, simply continuing up the stairs.

By the time I reached the entrance of the aqueduct, being at the back of the group as I’d been, Celia was already speaking with the moss merchant. The Undead woman was rambling about the different types and how to tell slightly more effective moss from the normal stuff, and Celia wass looking somewhat distressed and put-upon in body language. However, she was nodding along to what the merchant was saying, and I guessed that the information was valuable enough that she was putting up with the merchant’s somewhat Hollowing-influenced eccentricities for it. I nodded to Siegmeyer and Laurentius, who nodded back and went to stand by Celia’s side, the merchant looking enthused to see that her audience had grown. I turned and padded down the aqueduct, freezing the water as I went, until I reached the exit.

The Hollows that guarded the way to and from the aqueduct were back, wandering around the exit and generally making a nuisance of themselves. It was quick and easy work to dispatch them, one after the other, knocking them off the edge to break on the rocks far below rather than bothering to draw my sword. I pushed the last of them off the edge, wincing as it fairly splattered itself on the stone pathway that traced the edge of the canyon far below. I raised my gaze towards the underside of the stone bridge, thinking about the fact that Domhnall had disappeared from the Depths.

In your average game, one where you didn’t kill him in any case, Domhnall would leave his post by the entrance to Blighttown and come here. He would set up underneath the aqueduct, in the farthest arch, a place that was somewhat awkward to reach for your average player character. It required you to jump a gap between the ground and the stone surface under the aqueduct’s arches, then walk down a narrow little path to the farthest arch, where he would be sitting. Now, however, I could see from here that the arch was empty. No Domhnall, which meant that he’d absolutely broken his usual sequence.

I had very little doubt where he was, in particular. I had no doubt that he had his own way to the Duke’s Archives, up to Anor Londo, where he would be reporting to his master. Seath either knew of my presence and action now, or he would shortly, though I didn’t think that would affect my plans in the short term. Rather, it was more something to worry about in the long term, when I began my overtures to Gwyndolin.

Seath was a controversial figure at best, and an amoral mad scientist kidnapping random young women for his experiments in refounding his race, but let it never be said that he wasn’t cunning. With the knowledge that Sif was moving in Lordran and appeared to be Anor Londo bound, I had little doubt that he’d begin planning around my plans, or at least whatever he guessed my plans to be. However, he wouldn’t want me to know that I was doing so, and he would want to feel out what my intentions and plans were before he made a decision about what to do about me. The question was, how would he go about it?

Seath wouldn’t risk any of his real assets in any direct sense. Domhnall had already been outed, and he might assume that I would take action if I believed him to be sent by Seath specifically to spy on me. The trickster would not be easily replaced, so Seath wouldn’t send him. A channeler might work, but the last two any of my group had encountered had been as enemies, so unlikely. Even if Seath hadn’t known about their deaths in a direct sense, it wouldn’t be hard to put together both that they were dead and who had done it.

So, then, who? If I was to hazard a guess, I would say that it would be a silver knight- if there were any still remaining in Anor Londo among the illusions- or perhaps Seath would convince Gwyndolin to send… Ornstein. Smough seemed to me the smash first and ask questions never type, while Ornstein was most likely the closest thing to an honourable person in Anor Londo. Not to throw shade at Gwyndolin or his Darkmoons, but there wasn’t much honour in blindly following a plan that called for the deaths of untold numbers of people every time the end of a cycle rolled around. In Ornstein’s case, at least he eventually left in disgust to attempt to pursue something different, becoming a follower of the Firstborn. If there was anybody in Lordran that would be simultaneously expendable from Seath’s perspective and have a decent chance of poking me to figure out what I was doing, it would be Ornstein, provided that the scaleless could convince Gwyndolin to part with one half of Anor Londo’s greatest test.

All of this, of course, hinged on the idea that Seath took a proactive response and directly sent someone to sound me out, rather than taking the complete wait and see approach. It might just be that Seath took no action where I was regarded at all, instead retreating into his archive and keeping an eye on events from afar. It wasn’t that far a leap to think that he might do so, especially regarding the fact that any attempt to use something disposable and outside of his direct influence might be taken as him siding with one side or the other. If he thought that I was going to contest the throne, he may not want to implicate himself with Gwyndolin until he was sure which one of us would be better aligned with his goals. Or, failing that, he would at least wait until he was sure which one of us he could side with to maximize gain and minimize loss.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

In the end, it was a lot of speculation for not a lot of actual answers. Seath would act, or he wouldn’t, there wasn’t much I could do about it either way. As much as it rankled with me, and as much as I wanted to be proactive rather than reactive with how little I had to spare, in this case I was forced to be the latter. Without knowing how Seath would move, I was stuck waiting for something to respond to. At least, in the case that he was waiting for the same from me, it kept him in his archive while I gathered strength out here. Ideally, he’d stay out of it until I was in with Gwyndolin and had enough strength to force the issue, though I doubted that Seath would do that. He hadn’t made it this far being stupid, that was for sure.

I made my way down into Firelink. Patches gave me a half-hearted wave, while Griggs didn’t note my presence, buried in a series of scrolls as he was. Rodger was reading them over his shoulder, and then immediately swapping to pretending that he was staring at the sky or the bonfire when Griggs turned around. From the barely restrained grin on his face, I suspected that he was doing it more to annoy the sorcerer than because he was legitimately curious about the contents of the scrolls themselves. Still, he gave me a nod when he saw me. I passed through the bonfire area and onto the steps down, then stopped for a moment as I peered down.

Lautrec was seated in his usual position in the arch, but that wasn’t what surprised me. What surprised me was a very nervous looking Petrus, who was staring down the steps leading farther down to the New Londo elevator, while sending the occasional nervous glance in Lautrec’s direction. From what I could make out, this was highly amusing to him. The cleric eventually glanced my way, his nervousness intensifying slightly.

“Ah, hm, you’re… the wolf, correct? That they were… speaking with?” I could tell from his expression that he didn’t really like that idea. Big surprise. “I don’t suppose you’re headed down, are you?”

“I am. Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if you might do me a favour?” He looked down the steps again. “I fear that Lady Reah and her compatriots have not returned from New Londo, and I’m uncertain as to what their status is. Could you perhaps go down and find them for me?”

Coward. You don’t want to go down there because you overheard what manner of creatures like to make their homes among the ruins of New Londo, and you don’t want to be anywhere near those things if you can help it. The only loyalty you have is to the Way of White, and even that isn’t enough to compel you to actually go out of your way.

“I’m not against the idea.”

He hesitated. “Does that mean…?”

“If I find them, I will tell them that you’re looking for them.” I shrugged. “New Londo is unsafe even as far as Lordran is concerned, however. I am unsure that I will find much of anything.”

Petrus seemed conflicted about that. It made sense, given that he was supposed to guide them to their deaths regardless, but it still filled me with a sense of disgust. His own compatriots, and he had not a single second of hesitation over purposefully sending them to their demise. Giving him over to Patches’ tender mercies the moment his usefulness was up was too good for him. I spared a glance for Lautrec, who had been simply enjoying the show, but the golden knight didn’t acknowledge the look or deign to comment. I sighed through my nose, pushing past the cleric and onto the steps down to the elevator.

The elevator itself was at the top of the shaft, meaning that no one had ridden it down since I’d ridden it back up from my meeting with Vamos. Meant that Reah and her two companions hadn’t been back since I put them down there, and I didn’t imagine Vamos would have any sort of interest in Firelink, either the location or the people. No reason for anybody down there to come back up, so long as Reah actually believed what I’d told her about the organization that she’d put so much faith in. Even if her doubts kept her in New Londo, then that was enough to keep her safe until Patches dealt with Petrus and we could dedicate the three of them elsewhere.

The stone button in the center of the elevator compressed under my weight with the grating of stone against stone, and the elevator began the descent down the long shaft that led to New Londo. A long few seconds of waiting, and the stone circle came to a stop at the bottom of the shaft, the chains that held it up clinking and rattling against the stone. I stepped through the arch and into the cool darkness of New Londo, leaping down onto the lower level without bothering with the stairs.

Unlike before, where the space had been entirely dominated by the gentle lapping of water against the stone and the occasional wails of the ghosts in the ruins themselves, the sounds of smithing echoed out over the water and bounced back from the cavern walls. Far away, I could see the ghosts swirling around the ruins, much more agitated than they had been before, but still unwilling to cross the wooden bridge to where the sounds originated. If I were to guess, I would say that they were bound to the place where they’d died, unable to move too far from wherever they had expired when the city was sealed.

Against the wall that formed a barrier against the drop into New Londo proper, I saw Reah, Nico, and Vince. Reah was seated on a piece of stone, a large tome in her lap, and I could see her mouth moving silently as she read through each page. Nico was caring for a shield, while Vince was sitting cross-legged on the ground, his head against the stone and his eyes closed. I looked closer for a moment, and saw that his chest was slowly rising and falling. Asleep, then. Did the Undead need sleep? I didn’t imagine that they did, being tireless things, but it was not so strange to think that they might still enjoy it. The need became more psychological than physical. As I watched, Nico noticed me, his eyes making contact with mine. He nodded to me, respectfully, and I returned the gesture. That done, he returned to working on his shield, and I turned to the right and rounded the corner towards Vamos’ workspace.

“Here. Feel the tingling in your fingers?”

“Yes?”

“That’s the essence of flame. Keeping that feeling makes you able to work it into a weapon.”

“... Different than magic or enchanted.”

“Fire’s more intrinsic to life. Interacts with the smith’s own body more.”

I stared in surprise as Rickert was guided by the skeletal hands of Vamos. As I watched, the skeleton took a hammer and struck a blow against a red-hot length of steel, then a second that caused fire to leap from the blade with the hammer blow.

“Feel how I manipulated the essence of flame for the second strike?” Rickert nodded, staring intently at the point of impact. “Fire is eager to come when called. Fire shapes the steel regardless, melts and forges and strengthens, so the steel is already aligned with it in a way.”

The skeleton handed the hammer to Rickert, who took it and the length of steel in hands encased in leather gloves. A look of concentration came over his face, and the blacksmith struck the steel, producing a small shower of sparks and a flicker of flame. He let out a frustrated ‘tch’, then struck again, producing a slightly larger flame, though not as large as Vamos’. Still, he nodded in satisfaction, then kept hammering at the blade, tongues of flame rising from the steel with every blow.

Vamos took a few steps back and folded his bony arms, watching his fellow blacksmith work. I padded to his side, and he turned his head slightly, giving me the feeling of being observed despite the fact that his eye sockets were empty. An extremely odd feeling, being able to tell somebody was looking at me despite their lack of eyes. After a moment, he turned his attention back to the other blacksmith, and I sat at his side.

“Freed him?”

Vamos snorted. “Weak bars. Shoddy iron. He’s a half-decent blacksmith, could’ve freed himself if he chose.” His fingers flexed slightly, bone against bone. “I didn’t give him the means to escape, just the will.”

“Interesting to see you teaching, Vamos. Would have thought you would be satisfied with your little corner, despite what you said about him before.”

He shifted, and I experienced a strange moment as I realized that he lacked the vast majority of the body language I relied on to tell me what someone was thinking.

“You’ve begun to move in the world, Sif. Dunno, maybe you shook something loose. I haven’t had a student in many years, but here I am.” He shrugged. “One or two things to learn from him, as well.”

I raised my eyebrows. “The mighty Vamos doesn’t know and see all that is blacksmithing?” He snorted, an odd and almost flute-like noise.

“Day I stop learning is the day these old bones finally turn to powder.”

“Not anytime soon, then. We have need of smiths.”

“No, not soon.” A shrug. “Much as you all distract me, I suppose being needed is… tolerable.”

“I’ll take that to mean that you’re enjoying yourself, then.” He gave me a look, which I ignored. “Still. There’s the matter of the item I asked you to produce.”

He shifted, though it was impossible to tell what emotion was behind the action. “Planning on moving forwards?”

“Soon. I’ve spoken to Kirk-”

“Kirk? Still alive, then?” Vamos’ fingers mixed with his metal beard, causing it to jingle softly. “Armour and weapon better be holding up. Don’t suppose you asked him about his upkeep.”

“Apologies, but no, I didn’t. Still, the sword he was wielding and the armour he was wearing looked to be matching sets, and well-maintained, without patchwork repair. I doubt that he’s letting your work rot into uselessness.”

“Good. Custom orders like that are a bother to make, I might have to march down to Izalith and box his ears if I have to make him another set.” He hesitated for a moment, then his voice softened for the first time since I’d met him. “Good to know he’s alright.”

“I’m determined to help them, Vamos. Whatever I can do for them, whatever is in my power, I will. And not just because I need them, though I think I do, but because what was done to them was unjust. They did not deserve it.” He grunted, which I took as his way of saying thanks without actually saying the words, and I nodded. “Still. In order to do what I can, I need the item.”

“Mm.”

His bone fingers went into a pouch secured around his hip bone, held on by a leather strap, and fished around for a few moments. I tried not to stare at the container too much, or the way that the leather strap was tied tight around the naked bone. I supposed that without flesh, it was much harder to wear any kind of storage space or bag of any kind. Eventually, however, he slipped a small black ring out of the bag, and dropped it in front of my paws.

“Been a long time since I made one of these things. Was almost worried that I’d forgotten how, until I got started and fell back into the rhythm.”

“I doubt you could have ever actually forgotten your craft, Vamos. True masters never really forget how to produce their greatest works.”

He grunted again, folding his arms in front of his rib cage and watching Rickert as the magesmith experimented with getting the best response from the flame he was attempting to beat into the steel. I leaned closer to examine the ring that he’d dropped in front of me, my head going down as I looked at it.

As I got closer, I realized that it wasn’t black, but a deep, rich brown. In the dimness of New Londo, it was difficult to tell the actual colour, but once I was really looking at the metal band I could see the difference. In my faint memories of the picture of the ring from the game, I remembered it being scratched and damaged, a reflection of its age and it's no doubt tumultuous past. Here, however, the band was pristine, the metal sparkling gently in the low light and the flickering flames of the forge. Unmarred, undamaged, and probably the only magical item to actually be produced in Lordran in centuries. The script on the front was carefully inlaid with a white material that I didn’t recognize, painstaking attention paid to the tiny details of the complex series of lines and markings.

When was the last time a ring such as this had been produced? Perhaps before the fall of Izalith, for there was little reason for their existence afterwards. No one to speak to but demons and the Daughters, who were seen as no better in the eyes of the gods. A true expression of the dissolution of communication and the breakdown of diplomacy that had eventually led to the end of the First Age, I thought. The fading of the First Flame had simply been the thing that finally ended it, the age was truly ended by the slow decay of the societies that lived in it.

I slipped it onto one of the toes of my front paws, where it joined the other four rings. The hornet ring, the ring of a knight who failed her leader, and faded into history, never to be seen again. The Covenant ring, the result of an unspoken bargain between Artorias the Abysswalker and some being of Dark, and symbolic of his eventual fall to that which the ring was supposed to protect him from. The wolf ring, Artorias’ steadfast will like a mountain, but a mountain that still eventually fell before the corruption of the roiling Dark. And, finally, the Old Witch’s ring. Each represented a failure of the past, those who fell short of their goals and ultimately couldn’t hold against the forces of the world that sought to tear them down.

Lord’s Blade Ciaran. The two sides of Artorias, the Abysswalker and one of the four knights of Gwyn. The Witch of Izalith. Each of them fallen, to time or to enemies, and each of their dreams long lost to the grinding sands of the ages. In a moment of melancholy, I realized that I was one of the very few individuals left that remembered them, that could recall their names and their places in history. All these moments, lost to time like tears in the rain. And one of the few that could still attest to those things ever existing was one that had never met a single represented individual personally.

There was something deeply and abidingly sad about that, things forgotten and lost to time. I felt like a historian specialized in something that was hugely significant, and completely forgotten. Eventually, even the things that were remembered now would be lost to the grinding of the Age of Flame, the past burned to power the fading future. But wasn’t that what this was all for? To prevent the decline of the world, one way or another, and begin an age where people could aspire to be more than firewood for the benefit of the gods. Because even the gods would one day fade, and the entire cycle would be for nothing at all.

I shook my head. I could get philosophical later, when I’d done what I set out to do. Dismissing the thoughts that swirled around my head, I turned back to Vamos, who was patiently waiting with his arms crossed. Gently, I pinched out just a bit of the Soul that had flowed into me from the various creatures that I was party to defeating, and pushed it his way. The Soul flowed around and into his bones, and his metal beard rattled slightly as he nodded to me.

“Hn. Now, if you don’t have anything else you need?” I shook my head. “Good.”

With that, the smith turned away from me and back to where Rickert was examining the hot piece of steel in his hands. I suppose that was a dismissal, then. I couldn’t help but be amused that Vamos seemed not to care in the least about positioning, and I wondered if that was a result from years of working in Izalith and no doubt having almost continuous contact with the Daughters.

I turned to find Reah watching me, the book still in her lap. Her eyes skittered away when I looked in her direction, then snapped back with something like determination. Did she not want to show that she was intimidated by me? Admirable, I suppose. I turned in their direction, padding over and sitting myself down in front of her. Nico turned his head from where he sat, shield in his lap, but seemed content to merely watch me.

“Petrus is searching for you?”

“He is?” Her eyes went to the elevator, then back to me, the obvious question in her eyes. I huffed.

“The man is far too much of a coward to come down here after you, not with the ghosts across the lake. He won’t dare risk his life, not even to confirm whether you’re alive or dead.” Several emotions flashed across her face before she seemed to eventually land on confusion. “If I were to guess, it’s because he needs to confirm your death to those in the wider Way of White. With you down here, in a place that he’s never gone and not returning, he’s not eager to follow. Suspect he’s led enough people to their deaths in the Catacombs that he’s far more confident in their twisting tunnels.”

Her hands tensed on the book in her lap. “That’s… extremely uncharitable of you, Lady Sif.”

I shrugged. “It’s the truth. You heard what I’ve said, and I’ve not told you anything that wasn’t true. The Way of White has used Lordran as a dumping ground for the inconvenient since its abandonment, and there were other places before that. It’s not so much a matter of the Way having dirty hands as a question of whether or not they’ve ever been clean.” I shook my head. “But that’s irrelevant at the moment. The matter at hand is the fact that Petrus is searching for you, and asked me to look while I was down here.”

“What matter does that have?”

“Well, it’s mostly a matter of what you want me to tell him.”

I gave her a meaningful look. Reah stared back at me for a moment in confusion, then I watched as her eyes widened in realization, then her mouth stretched slightly in anxiety. It must not have been an easy thing, to realize that I was asking her what lie she wanted me to tell to the person that she was supposed to have trusted to guide herself and her companions towards their goal. She shifted uncomfortably, staring down at the book still open in her lap, but her hands were tensed on its binding and her eyes were unmoving. She seemed to look through the pages, not at them.

“You don’t have to tell him a thing, of course.” I said softly. “There is no demand for you to feel guilt for contemplating a lie told to someone who planned to betray you, nor is there any reason that you have to instruct me on what to say. Guiding him towards a false conclusion about your fate would be easy all on my own, and there is no reason for you to say anything.” Her fingers twitched and her face tightened. “I am simply asking if there’s anything specific you want me to say, before I go up and tell him that I couldn’t find you and imply that you were lost deeper in New Londo.”

“... Say what you must, Lady Sif.”

I paused for a moment in thought, then leaned closer to her. She looked at me with a complex mix of emotions, all of which converted themselves to surprise when I licked her hand. I nosed under it, pushing it into my head between my ears as I lay my muzzle on the pages of her book. I felt the shaking in her fingers, even as they buried themselves in my fur, and even as I felt the small wet droplets landing on my head, I chose not to comment on them.

“It will be alright, Reah.” I whispered to her. “I promise you that. It’ll be alright.”

She took in a breath, her chest shaking slightly, then pushed the book off her lap and onto the ground, where it landed with a heavy thump. She wrapped both arms around me and buried her face in my fur, sniffling softly as she squeezed me. I stood there, doing my best to be steadfast for this poor girl in this horrible place.

There was only one individual that I felt worse for than Reah, and that was Anastasia, the firekeeper for Firelink. Reah would’ve been destined to be betrayed, left alone, saved by the Chosen Undead and fated to either die at the altar in the Parish or be taken by a minion of Seath’s to the archives and left to Hollow. Even with the tragedy of her story as averted as I could make it, I realized her constant struggle. She was still betrayed by the organization that she had dedicated her life to, for the reasons of being Undead and being a descendant of Havel, who had attempted to rebel against the cold machinations of the gods. It was needless to say that she didn’t deserve the fate that had been bestowed upon her, and I had little desire to let it come to pass.

I placed my head on the shoulder of this poor girl left to a horrible fate, and I tried to give her what assurances I could give. I thought for a moment about all the people that had suffered as she had, betrayed by the gods or the organizations that were meant to look out for them, and I pushed down the anger that such a thought sparked. Anger was useful when I finally judged those who had played party to these schemes, when I finally brought swords down on those who had ensured a continuation of the abuses of the gods and the cycle that perpetuated it through the ages. Anger was not useful here, not where compassion and understanding would help.

I felt a hand on my back, and I looked up to see the face of Nico, peering down at me. There was something deeply sad in that face, in those eyes, and I wondered how much Nico knew of the exact things I spoke of. After all, if everything I’d said was correct, then Nico and Vince would be individuals that were just as politically inconvenient to the Way as Reah was. When he absorbed what I’d said before, he must’ve come to that conclusion much as Reah had, though she had struggled against the conclusion rather than accepting it as he must have. His eyes went to Reah’s arms, squeezing around my chest as tight as she could as she gently cried into my chest, and he nodded once in approval. I silently nodded in return.

I sat for as long as Reah needed me, acting as an anchor in the storm of emotion that she must be experiencing. The fur of my front was damp with tears and salt, but I didn’t mind. If that was the cost of being here, of being able to help someone in such a desperate situation, then I gladly paid it and without a moment’s hesitation. Eventually, the soft sobbing calmed into slow breathing, and I realized that she’d fallen asleep against me. I felt something in my chest twist, sorrow and sympathy for this misbegotten child of uncaring gods. But there was something else under that emotion, a bedrock of certainty and determination. A vow. A promise that no others would suffer at the hands of the uncaring divine as she had, disposed of without a thought the moment she ceased to be useful.

I shrugged carefully, loosening her hold on me, moving a paw around her back to support her as I did. Nico came from the side, helping to take her from me and lay her on the grass-covered dirt, where she slept peacefully. I cast a sympathetic eye over her, wondering how long she’d kept her uncertainty and fear in that releasing them had exhausted her so. I nodded to Nico again, who nodded in return before setting to work making his charge comfortable, then stood and stretched. Joints popped and properly stretched, I turned in the direction of the elevator.

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

“Vanished?”

I nodded, and Petrus seemed… entirely uncertain how to react. There was something underneath that expression of bumbling concern, a cold calculation that I could see peering through the cracks at me. Was I telling the truth? Was this reliable enough to report that she was dead to his superiors, the problem handled? After a few moments, it seemed to weigh the issue and decide that that was satisfactory for his purposes, even as Petrus’ face fell in pretended consternation and mourning.

“Oh, but that’s… I will have to tell the Way of White of this. The loss of such a young and shining flower… it is a tragedy.”

A flicker of anger licked at the inside of my chest, my heart accelerating for a moment before I grasped it and pushed it down. Petrus would be easy to kill, simply wrap my teeth around his throat and pitch him over the edge and into the valley beneath, but this wasn’t the time. He was still useful, I reminded myself, and I still needed him.

“Yes, it’s a shame. A true tragedy, to lose someone so young, but Lordran is the grave of many such people. Fools and champions alike, many fall here.”

Petrus seemed uncertain what to make of that comment, even as he nodded along with it. Though, of course, he wouldn’t recognize himself as either mentioned category. He really was a fool. Still, he didn’t seem eager to hang around the steps down to New Londo, not with his goals achieved. He nodded to me, then walked back up the steps into Firelink proper and out of sight.

“Mm, yes, quite a shame that the young cleric was lost in the ruins beneath.” Commented Lautrec from the side. “A shame indeed, especially when accompanied by two companions and a blacksmith, all going to such a dangerous place.”

“Sometimes something needs to be lost in order to keep it out of the hands of those who would do terrible things with or to it. Sometimes, the fate of something needs to be ambiguous for it to never be mistreated or misused again.” I turned my head in his direction, staring at the faceplate of his helmet. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lautrec?”

He shrugged lazily. “Far be it from me to criticize your aims, though I admit that I have some inkling of concern over their target. A representative of the Way of White, Sif? Tut tut.”

“If one belongs to an organization without an understanding of the true actions and intentions of that organization, can one say that they’re responsible for them? If there is no way for one to discover the reality of a situation, do the consequences fall to their feet?”

“Perhaps. Debatably, it’s more about how much they assisted in those ends, and whether they move to stop them if they realise the truth.”

“Then is not every human responsible for the actions and crimes of the gods, by nature?” Lautrec hummed, and I took a step closer. “Give me the truth, servant of Fina. What do you know of Gwyn’s lastborn child?”

He tensed, then relaxed, the movement happening so quickly that I’d nearly missed it. Would have, if I hadn’t been staring straight at him when it happened.

“I’m unsure what that has to do with the child drawn in by the Way.”

“It’s not about her, Lautrec, it’s about responsibility. Humanity, by its very nature, plays into the schemes of the gods. If Fina has told you the truth of humanity itself and the nature of the god’s plans for them as a whole, then you know what the Curse truly is, and you know that any Undead that doesn’t look Hollow plays into the god’s plans, intentionally or not. And if you are aware...” I narrowed my eyes. “Tell me, Lautrec. What do you look like under the helmet?”

He sat for a long moment in silence, his faceplate angled towards me, and his fingers still woven under his helmet. Finally, he sighed, unlacing his fingers and placing his hands on the ground as he leaned back on them.

“You are as frustrating as you are interesting, Lady Sif. Luckily for you, both I and my patron are much more fond of those like you than not.”

“I’m satisfied that I could be a source of amusement for you, Lautrec.” I said, words with a sarcastic edge to them.

Lautrec didn’t deign to respond to my barb, simply huffing and waving his hand in a dismissal. I lingered for a few moments longer, making eye contact with him through his faceplate just to show him that I wasn’t his to command in the pettiest way possible. The moment I felt I’d lingered long enough, I broke eye contact and turned away, following Petrus up the stairs.

The cleric, it appeared, hadn’t settled into the ring of warmth around the bonfire, instead presumably returning to where he normally stood. Given how Patches was not so subtly glaring at the arched doorway to the area Petrus could normally be found, I didn’t think it was so much of a leap of logic to assume that. I stood for a moment, casting my eyes around Firelink, then sidled up to Patches. The primordial human finally turned his attention from the archway, raising an eyebrow at me. I leaned closer.

“Perhaps you’d be willing to do me a favour?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the favour, Wolfy. If you want me to fight more of those skeleton wheels, I can offer to pitch you off the cliff behind us, if that’ll help.”

I snorted. “No, not that.” I nodded towards the archway, and his eyes flickered to follow the gesture. “If that rat bastard looks as if he’s going to go down to New Londo, then forget the plan. Put a boot up his ass and pitch him over the edge.”

Patches sat up slightly in surprise, hsi gaze suddenly much more intent than it had been.

“Really? Well, far be it from trusty Patches-” he held up a hand as I frowned at him- “to question a change of heart, but still, what brought this on?”

“I’m not letting anyone of the Way anywhere near their victim.” I growled.

“Hmm… and would this have anything to do with the salt water staining your front?” I ignored the comment completely, and he shrugged. “Well, in any case, I’m certainly not one to argue when given permission to slay such a cancerous growth on the world as a cleric. You’ve got the word of Patches, Wolfy- if he looks to be making a go for the elevator, I’ll deal with it.”

I nodded. “Excellent.”

With that, I stood up, nodding my farewell to him and getting a lazy sort of salute in return. I nodded to Rodger and Griggs as well, who returned the gesture with their own, then turned back towards the aqueduct.