A/N: Well, I've got another oneshot here. Dark Souls this time. Left it deliberately vague in keeping with From's philosophy and coz i want it to be able to refer to any undead at any given time. Anyway, let me know what you think.
The first gasp of air is always painful. Definitely not the most painful experience, but he stopped caring some time ago; exactly when he stopped caring he couldn't remember. He opened his eyes and the light stung them. Pain, again. It was good, he told himself. Dead people don't feel pain, therefore he was still alive, and that was supposed to be good. He couldn't remember why it was good to be alive but that was a thought he'd held on to for as long as he could remember. Then again, he thought, there were far worse things than dying and he wasn't sure whether being alive was better or worse.
In any case, he was alive and not dead. For now. He rubbed the blindness out of his eyes and saw that he was… somewhere. He didn't know where he was or why he was wherever he was. Well, he was fairly sure he knew why: because his options were to Hollow or move on. So he always moved on. Always walking forward and when there was a dead end, he'd turn around and find another path. He began to notice the objects poking his back. Rocks, he identified, and so he deduced that he was lying on the ground. It was difficult, sometimes, to understand what was going on whenever he returns.
He sat up and cupped his face in his hands, trying to rub the drowsiness out of his head. There was a heat coming from his side, a very comforting sort of warmth. He turned to face it, assuming it was the bonfire but half hoping that it was something else. What he hoped it would be, he didn't – couldn't – know. At least that was a sign that he wasn't fully Hollowed out yet and that was good. Have to count the good things, after all.
On that note, he began to try and remember as much as he could. He turned to face the bonfire and stared into the flame. It was always so mesmerizing, never failing to draw him in, into the last fragments of his mind. What was his name? He couldn't remember, not for a while now. Where was he born? There was no memory he could call on. Did he have a family or a lover even? Nothing came to mind. There really was nothing, nothing solid he could cling to and say that this was who he was.
That didn't mean he had nothing, though. He wasn't sure what his name was, but he was sure about how it felt to be called by name. He didn't know where he came from, but he knew he had a home once and that it felt warm. That probably was why he liked the bonfire. He couldn't remember the people he once cared for, couldn't remember their faces, much less their names. But he remembered he cared for them, would have fought for them, even died for them.
He chuckled at that last thought. Funny, he told himself, now that dying was much less of an issue for him now. Come to think of it, he didn't know what had killed him last time. After fighting so many things trying to kill him, they all blended together. It didn't matter though. One way or another, he'd get through it. He had to. He touched the weapon he kept with him through most of his journey, mostly to assure himself that it was still there. He stood and took a deep breath. Breathing wasn't so painful now. That was good. He began walking forward.
