The Cursed Twins
Dogged contender
chapter 1 of 3
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We knew he had come when we heard the giant hinges moan and the air rushing in.
I can smell the dust that swirls in the sudden gust of air. For how long had this door remained closed?
For how long have we been in this room?
I remember the day we closed the door behind us. The hunted princes, royalty downgraded to vagabonds, two runaways. Prince Lothric, last disappointment of his line, and his cripple brother - me - the once legendary warrior now crawling like a worm. With extended fingers they pointed at us, always, until the very last minute. And we never cared. About any of it, about any of them. Fools all of them, always relying on someone else to do for them what they can not. They called us their princes and they called themselves our servants, but it was the other way around. They demanded, constantly demanded, and we had to obey.
Slay the demon prince, Lorian, for our sakes. And I did.
Be a strong ruler like your father, Lothric. And he tried. Heavens know he tried.
Be the lords you ought to be. Burn your bodies, your souls for us - but this we didn't do. This once, we didn't obey. We didn't.
We ran away; together, as we have always been. That's the only thing we ever cared about.
Cowards, they called us. Traitors to the realm. Immature princelings, afraid to surrender their bodies to the flames.
Oh, but I never was afraid of fire. I'd gladly burn my soul for him. But I have no care to do it for them.
And so the fools found another fool to do the dirty job for them. Poor Emma, did you talk him into it, as you tried to do with us? Poor, old Emma... All Lothric ever heard from your lips were words about duty, promise of a glorious end among the flames. But there's nothing glorious about fire. I know. I've fought it.
Let it fade, I say.
Kindling to stoke a fire, that's all he ever was for them. They tried to raise him like a pig for slaughter. No one ever cared for his suffering. No one could feel the pain that tormented him day and night. They wanted him to kindle the flame, but - oh, poor brother - flames were already consuming him from within. I alone heard his screams at night. I alone saw the tears he spilt. I saw him writhe in pain; until I could stand it no longer.
Ah, I'd gladly burn my very soul for him.
I was the one who persuaded him to run away. It was always me, even when we were younger, who proposed the craziest things. I remember when I convinced him to put some golden pine resin in Emma's kerchief. Poor, old, fool Emma.
He couldn't have run away without me. For all my disability, I am his strength. He was afraid, but I swore I'd protect him against anything and anyone.
It was so long ago that we closed the door of this cathedral behind us, refusing all apart from one another. Let them all sink in the Abyss, with their titles of lords and princes. I need not their titles. The highest praise is to have him call me 'brother'. His dear brother.
And I care not that he has no crown. For me, he is the king, my one and only king. We rule a kingdom of two, and that's all we ever needed.
Nestled in this dusty hall we remain but, for all its walls and locked doors, we are free here. For the first time; free.
Arrogant brats. Sick in body and mind, sick even in the way we love each other. Let them call us what they will, let them point their fingers. Let them dwell among half-burning cinders, let their despair grow as they watch the flame go out. Let them curse us or our treason; we are already accursed, as is this ignorant creature they sent to do their bidding.
And so, the dogged contender comes.
I wonder if he knows he is not the first one to try to challenge us. He is, however, the first one to make it this far. The first to open that door.
He walks in, heavy footsteps muffled by the worn carpet. Heavy breathing. He is tired from fighting our trusted soldiers, the ones that guard the stairs. No one had managed to climb those steps before. We thought the soldiers were enough; too many, even. Archers, sword-fighters, spear-wielders. As it turned out, they weren't too many for this damned Unkindled.
Not such an incompetent contender, after all, but a fool nonetheless.
Lothric can see him enter the room; I hear my brother stir weakly.
"Oh dear", he sneers and almost makes me want to laugh, because this little joke is for me: a perfect imitation of father's condescending tone, the one he always had when talking to us. I cannot laugh - the sounds I make when I try to are frightening - but Lothric knows I appreciate the joke.
Then he turns to the Unkindled One and his voice starts dripping venom. All I'm thinking is that if he keeps talking so loudly he'll wear himself out, but I know he can't tone it down now. All his hate, all his anger for the world, his contempt for the blind worshipers of fire, all his grief and pain- our pain - give strength to his voice. And he knows he needs to speak up, for now he speaks for both of us.
"Mind you, the mantle of Lord interests me none. The fire-linking curse, the legacy of lords... Let it all fade into nothing".
Do not try to explain to him, brother. Do not waste your strength. He is not here to listen; he climbed the stairs. He went through all of our defenses, he killed our soldiers. Your words won't make him yield. He is here to drag us back into an unwanted duty; this blind sheep that bows before embers, a slave as we once were.
I hear the Unkindled unsheathe his sword - such a devoted fool. I reach for my sword. My fingers search in the dust until I grab the hilt of the old, familiar relic. It was long ago that they called me Demonslayer, but the blade still burns with a scorching heat.
I know he can see me crawl along the floor. It's not hard to imagine what he's thinking. But if he will not yield, I won't, either.
He has to be strong to have made it this far, I don't doubt that. But he's fighting for duty, and we learned long ago that its power is insubstantial.
I am wielding this sword for him, and him alone: my brother and king.
Beware, Unkindled One, for today you will fight much more than a cripple.