You stare out into the distance, the howl of the wind bringing life to this otherwise dead, lifeless place. The end was almost here now. You had journeyed far, further than you had ever feared. You had fought hard, and against creatures that belonged in nightmares: Reptilian Dragons, with the cavity of their ribcage replaced by rows upon rows of vicious teeth: Gargantuan Executioners and Lion-headed Knights: Magnificent Gray wolves, armed with blessed greatswords. You had tirelessly battled your way through each and every encounter, your sanity preserved thanks to your unquestioning, unshakable faith.

For you were Solaire of Astora, the sunlight warrior! You would never give up, not while you still took breath, not while you still had your knight’s honour. You had always had strong faith, a faith which shielded your mind that way your hand-crafted armour shielded your body. For if an undead was to lose faith, if a broken and beaten soul was to admit defeat… then it was   already too late. You had killed many hollows, looks of despair etched into their faces as you struck them down. That is why you pledged yourself to the most noble of causes. You led the Sunlight Warriors, a covenant of soldiers dedicated to the fallen God of War, Lord Gwyn’s firstborn, whose purpose was to assist all those in need, and to engage in jolly co-operation. Lordran, the birthplace of the Gods, was entirely, brutally unforgiving, and so you saw to it that warriors could bridge the gaps between worlds, summon one another, and overcome adversity together. You smile to yourself as you recall the dozens of warriors you had helped in your long, long trek… and the smile fades as you remember all of whom you had helped, had cracked, and turned hollow. Well… there was one who had stayed strong… the other chosen undead.

As you stand at the mouth of the Kiln of the First Flame, a spectral figure passes by you, walking determinedly towards the epicentre of the earth. Yes. You would miss this particular warrior. You both had fought together many times, from the precipice of the Undead Parish, to the depths of the earth, in Lost Izalith… He had fought valiantly each time, and you had offered him a rank amongst the other Warriors of Sunlight, to which he had declined, much to your anguish. Your worlds had broken off from each other for much of the time, due to the convoluted nature of Lordran’s time, but in the rare, brief moments of contact, you saw a brave champion. You also owed him, more than you could ever repay. Throughout your course through Lordran, you had also maintained a secondary quest… the quest to find your very own sun. It was a fool’s quest, no doubt to that, and you were a fool for running with it. As your search became increasingly desperate, you had found yourself in the ruins of Lost Izalith, a hellish landscape filled with lava and demons, toying with the idea of sticking a hideous parasite, the sunlight maggot, onto your head. In your panic-induced delirium, you had honestly thought of this as a grandiose idea. The sunlight maggot: capable of generating it's own blinding light, but at a terrible cost... it's host sanity. If not for this undead, who found you and convinced you out of the idea, who knows where you would be now? Perhaps you’d be hollow, forever wandering the forsaken, scarred remains of the once great city of Izalith… maybe that would be best… No, what were you thinking! You may have failed in your search for your very own sun, but there was one other cause you had, one other purpose now, one that needed to be fulfilled. You had toppled the 4 current bearers of Lord Souls – Gravelord Nito, the harbinger of death, Seath the Scale-less, eyeless dragon who betrayed his own kind, driven insane by his endless lust for the immortality which he could never achieve. The Witch of Izalith, corrupted by the flames of chaos, and the Four Kings, the fallen rulers of New Londo who turned to the dark and embraced their inner evil, and led the enemies of man, the darkwraiths. With these four powerful souls in your possession, you had filled the Lordvessel and broken the seal of Gwyn’s prison, the place where the first flame had been kindled, leading to the destruction of the everlasting dragons. You continued staring into the distance of the Kiln, silently pondering.

You hoped that brave compatriot of yours would make the right choice. When he finishes off Gwyn, he’ll have a decision to make. He can either sacrifice himself to the dwindling flame, staving off darkness in the world, and ensuring a little more time of safety and security… or he can abandon the flame, and advance the world onwards into the age of man, an age that would be filled with uncertainty and evil. It was true than mankind had suffered under the watch of the fearful Gods, but you couldn’t let the world fall into uncertain chaos. Such a world, in which the weak would be mercilessly preyed upon, with no Darkmoon Blades to avenge the deaths of the innocencent and to punish the condemned guilty, countered every belief you held as a warrior of sunlight. You couldn’t force him to do anything, of course, and you wouldn’t force him if you could. He was from an entirely different time than your own, an entirely different world, and it was his decision to make. You knew exactly what your fate would hold, though. Once you defeated Gwyn, who set out long ago to sacrifice his very soul to the flame, you would follow suit. The thought of death did not scare you… well, it only scared you a little… but you knew it would stave off the era of evil for a little while longer. But perhaps there is time for one more summoning. Perhaps your old friend could use one last moment of assistance, when it mattered the most…

Yes, that would do. He found you early into his quest, and you would help him finish it.

A tear falls down your cheek, and you remove your helmet, wiping it away. Now was not the time to wallow in misery. You must press onwards. You put your helmet back on, and you pull your Sunlight Straight sword out of its sheath. Despite it’s grandiose name, it was just a normal longsword, albeit one of extremely high repair and quality. In fact, that judgement could be applied to every piece of your equipment, from your armour, to your talisman for casting miracles, to your shield. Your self admittedly incredible prowess came from nothing more than gruelling training. You perform an inventory check to make sure you weren’t lacking anything necessary. Your Estus flask, a valuable source of health replenishment, was securely tightened to your waist. You open your bottomless box, feeling around inside its endless depths, to check on your equipment. Medicinal moss… white sign soapstone… humanities… sunlight medals… Seems like everything is in order. Time to get moving, then. You snap the box closed, and secure it to your belt, next to the flask. You flex your arms, and take up your sword and shield. With a deep breath, you begin marching towards the end.

As you traverse the kiln, dunes of ash forming the ground underneath, a figure begins charging at you. A Black Knight. They were Gwyn’s most loyal followers, even staying with him up until his self-sacrifice, in which they were charred black, their souls irrevocably damaged. They were infamous for wandering Lordran aimlessly, overpowering travellers with their size and skill. The knight charges at you and you raise your shield, waiting in anticipation. Wait for it… wait for it… now! Your shield in your left hand, you swipe away the knight’s blow, the force of the parry causing the sword to be knocked clean out of the knight’s grasp. Without a moments haste you plunge the sword into the knight’s groin, causing it to collapse to the ground. You smash your shield into its face over and over, until with a faint cry it dies, its body disappearing in a flurry of souls, which flow into you. You feel yourself being strengthened ever so slightly by the pillaged souls. Not even great minds like Big Hat Logan knew how the application of souls worked… all anyone knew was that when your souls increased, so did your strength, or fitness, or intelligence, or indeed even your faith in the power of miracles. You stand there, breathing heavily, until the sound of clanking armour snaps you back to attention. You wheel round to see two more knights approaching. One, like the knight you just slew, wielded a slightly larger than normal greatsword. The other… well, you’re not blocking that sword, that’s for sure. It’s not fair being attacked by two knights at once, but indeed… Lordran is not the fairest of places, at the best of times.

You lean against the crumbling stone wall, wincing in pain at your wounds. You unfasten your flask and drink deeply, the bitter taste of estus compounding the pain in your body as bones fused and flesh sealed. In a matter of seconds the life giving estus had restored your body, but you could only drink like that once or twice before it ran dry. Well, here is as good a place as any to conduct the summoning… You rummage in your box for the white sign soapstone, the tool that allowed the coupling of realities. You kneel down and write your name onto the ashen stone floor, your status as a warrior of sunlight causing it to shine with a magnificent orange glow. And now, you wait. You might as well rest during this time, for the battle ahead will be harder than anything you have faced so far. You lie down on the hard floor, and begin to sleep, exhaustion overcoming you.

You are roused from your sleep by the feeling of weightlessness which accompanied a successful summoning. You stare down at your body as it slowly loses his substance, turning transparent. You never would get used to crossing the gaps between worlds… not that’d you be doing it again after this. Your world goes black as your body dissipates, and as you fall through the black nothingness you catch glimpses of passing visions, which whispered strange hints to you. Suddenly, you feel yourself being pulled upwards, and you rise through the stone floor, your body basked in a brilliant aura of orange light. The summoning ring surrounding you dissipates, and you raise your arms into the air, a motion you did every time you were summoned to another warrior’s world. Before you stood a man clad in fluted armour, with the legendary treasure Sanctus shield in one hand, blessed Astora straight sword in the other. You clasp each other’s arms and bring each other in for a manly hug. “I did not think I would be enjoying the pleasure of your company again, my friend.” You say, releasing the undead from the embrace.

”Alas, I am in dire need of assistance. Gwyn, even in his retched, hollow state, has overpowered me… too many times to count.”

“You have my unwavering loyalty, friend. Let us put Gwyn out of his misery together.”

He nods, and shuts his helmet closed, signalling his readiness for the fight. You both walk side by side to the thick fog gate, and you are halted by an invisible force. The other undead touches the fog hesitantly, before walking through it determinedly. The force constricting you vanishes, and you follow your friend through the fog.

Before you Gwyn stands, once the lord of sunlight and usurper of the dragons, now a mere husk of his former self. He stares aimlessly at the both of you; his empty mind capable of nothing more than fending off his would be assassins. The other undead pauses and scoops up a handful of blood that had pooled on the floor, a testament to a previous defeat. ”Let’s finish this.” He says, with a tone of finality. You yell a warcry and charge forward, as Gwyn leaps forward, his flaming greatsword threatening to crush you. You roll forward, barely dodging the surely deadly blow, before plunging your sword up into his chest. Gwyn roars in primal fury, before grabbing you. You feel power flow through his arm, until you are blasted away, collapsing against a stone pillar painfully. As you recover, Gwyn approaches you steadily, before lunging forward. You cry out and hold an arm up to cover your face, as useless as that would be in protecting yourself…CLANG! You lower your arm to see your friend holding off Gwyn’s mighty sword with the Sanctus, barely managing to keep the both of you alive. You scramble out of the way and produce your talisman from your belt, not risking a grab for your sword. Your friend falls backwards, still keeping Gwyn’s sword from touching him, the Sanctus obviously close to breaking under the immense stress. It’s all or nothing at this stage…

You mutter a quick prayer to the nameless God of War, channelling your unrelenting faith into the talisman. A huge spear of lighting forms, and with a final cry, you hurl it at Gwyn. It strikes him in the side of the chest and he stumbles backwards, losing his grip on the sword. Your friend kicks Gwyn onto his back, lifts his mighty sword up with both hands… and plunges it down into the fallen God. Gwyn screams as his body explodes into a mist of light, and you hobble over to where your friend stood.

“You… fought… well…” you gasp. ”As did… you…” he replies, panting heavily. You both stare at each other before the realisation hits you.

“This was… our last fight.”

”That it was.”

“It was an honour fighting by your side.”

”As it was with you, my friend.”

As the feeling of weightlessness returns, you raise your arms to the heavens again, and the undead returns the gesture. As you vanish from his world, feeling souls and humanity flooding your body, you wave to your friend, whom you would never see again…You return to your world, sword and shield by your side once more. A small golden medal materialises in your hand; a token of your victory. You put it in the bottomless box, pick yourself up, prepare yourself, and march towards the fog door. You could do this… you will do this!

Meanwhile…

You collapse to the floor of the Canterlot palace, too weak to move. ”Princess Celestia!” Twilight cries, as she and her friends rush to your side. ”Hmm, Shining Armour’s love for you is even stronger than I thought.” Chrysalis chuckles. “Consuming it has made me even more powerful than Celestia!”  “The elements of harmony… you must get to them, and use their power to defeat the queen!” you groan, your body racked in pain. Twilight and her friends nod, shedding their dresses as they run towards the keeping room. ”You can run, but you can’t hide!” Chrysalis cackles, flittering in the air. You gather your strength and attempt to cast one last spell. Please… somebody… help us… Your horn glows briefly, and the spell is cast… Nothing happened! You close your eyes as Chrysalis cackles, your hope dwindling by the second…

You sheath your sword, your triumph over Gwyn elating your spirits. You felt a sudden surge of power, and a fabulous glowing soul materialises in your hand. The soul of Gwyn… even when it’s power is all but drained, it is still mighty indeed. You marvel at it for a few seconds, before snapping back to attention. Now, your quest comes to an end. You walk towards the bonfire at the centre of the arena, fear gnawing at the core of your spirit. No, it’s too late to back out now. You must restore peace to this land, no matter the cost. You kneel in front of the bonfire, and gently touch the flame. It begins to travel up your arm, and you take a step back. Around you, flames begin to sprout from the floor, snaking up the columns of charred stone. The flame engulfs your body entirely. You only feel a mild sort of tingle as you begin to fade, your soul feeding and fanning the flames. And so your tale ends…

Your body disappears and the feeling of weightlessness returns, as your vision is choked by fire. Wait… you should be dead by now… what is happening? You fade into blackness, as if you were in the middle of being summoned. What is happening? To whose world are you travelling? A circle of light comes into view, and you race towards it. Looks like your question is about to be answered…

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