...there is no path...
He could scarcely recall who he used to be when he first arrived in these lands. At first, they were a jumbled mess, indistinguishable from one another. They held faces, but the names were scattered and broken, and so few were they shown to him. A face belonging to a girl with closed eyes, carrying a smile befitting one of the rarest of purity, an angelic face untouched by despair nor defilement. Another was a woman with hair as pale as the glowing embers that danced around him, cut so shortly yet so wild, as if representing her wild and untamed nature. And yet another was open to him, a boy with hair as dirtied as the earth, yet bearing the softest of greens he had seen. At one point, his smile was kind and gentle, but somewhere, that smile was gone, replaced with only a cold benevolence.
The last of the faces eluded him, recalling only a face blurred out, blotched from view, and unnaturally green hair.
...beyond the scope of light...
He could hardly recall anything. All he knew, for certainty, was that he was what little remained of a human being. At first, his skin was rotting and degrading, reduced to wrinkled, dark skin with the faint smell of ash. He could only think empty thoughts, trudging forward with but a blurred purpose. What it was, he could not recall then, nor now. However, when a cold, yet beautiful light was left to be held in his hands, he felt something relight inside of him. His purpose was somewhat clear now, but it was still so muddled, as if left murky by the dark waters of his addled mind. He sought an end to this curse that plagued him and countless others before him, this terrible curse known as the Undead. He knew not of his origins, only that he was among it's victims... and that he would hold no time left, if he continued to remain idle.
...beyond the reach of dark...
He remembers his arrival at that small, wrecked village with the woman garbed in the emerald robe. He remembered her words to seek the throne, to yearn for the king who could provide him with answers. He remembered how he journeyed across the lands, seeking out souls... yes, he remembers it well. The pains and deep writhing agony, the joyous wondrous enlightenment, the scathing blistering rage, the cold unforgiving wrath, and the sorrowful wilting despair, a variety of feelings that would be passed into him, with each soul he took. Even now, he remembers them. He cannot forget them, nor their faces. He also remembered the various people he encountered, all of them so unique and different, and so widely strange and bizarre that he was left befuddled... yet he remained precarious and curious, yet also distant. Though they viewed him with difference, he viewed them with subtle suspicion. Eventually, after learning more of them, of their pasts and motivation, he saw them as comrades in arms, and friends. He lost a great many of them in the past.
...what could possibly await us...
Out of all of his adventures to find Venderick and this damnable throne he once sat upon, he recalled that damned witch, Nashandra. Even when they met, even though she showed him generosity and kindness with a calm benevolence, he saw her for what she was. Cold, uncaring, despairingly vain, so wretched and vile, and so wreathed heavily in putrid maggots. He could not stand to look at her, and met with her only that one time. Since then, he dared not so much as place a foot in that castle, and continued his search. It was through these journeys that, eventually, he had learned the full story, and the journey that had eluded him so after bringing an end to what remained of a once great king, taunted and misguided by his beloved queen, and finding a heart of ash. Shards of darkness roamed this wretched earth, but he still remained steadfast, one foot before the other, seeking only a way to bring to an end this horrible curse that marred his flesh, a blackened damnable circle etched into his rib. The king saw something in him, however. A light unknown, flickering with an unbridled awe. He told him to gather the crowns, for he could perhaps do what he could not.
...and yet...
He fought those who bore these crowns. He fought what remained of a king that ruled over a city of molten iron, becoming only a giant, wretched beast that lurked in flames. The Scholar of the First Sin, Aldia, spoke of how he had succumbed to flame. He tangled with a horrible beast, nothing but flesh and flesh melted and amalgamated together, a heaping pound of disgusting flesh that smelled of rot and decay. The Scholar knew him only as the one who drowned in poison. He delved into a kingdom trapped in time, wreathed in the everlasting ice, hiding away a chaotic flame that a great and powerful king sought to subdue and chain down. The Scholar called him a monarch who slept in the realm of ice. He had brought forth the crowns, and Venderick had shown him a terrifying truth, one that sat in his satchel, unstained and unmarred by anything of impurity. Even now, he felt... pure, for whatever it was worth of one stained in sin.
...we seek it...
All Undead will Hollow. They will lose the will to live, to find a purpose, and become only a mindless, wandering, decaying corpse. That would become his fate, left to wander eternally. This fate would become all the Undead that wandered this world. He recalled hearing it so many times before. That one day fire will fade, and only dark will remain. Men will be left to wander eternally, and become a curse. The Scholar of the First Sin spoke of this as well, how it was to be the order of the world: for fire to rule and present the joys of life, and then fade away to reveal only a despairing existence. The Relit the Flame, or to let it fade, and therefore become a Lord of Dark. These were the only choices one had, the only paths they could take... yet only a true monarch could make the decision to kindle the flame, or allow it to be reduced to fading sparks.
...insatiably...
Nashandra stood against him, presented in her truest, vile form. She commanded the darkness with such terrifying ease that he had been left a near shrivelling corpse. His life had been cut down once, and by all rights, he should have hollowed... yet the crown he carried refused this. Yes, the queen showed nothing but shock when he stood back to his feet, skin unblemished, and will undeterred nor faded. Venderick had told him as much, that so long as the crown chose him, he would be the one true monarch, one who would lead all others. He was told to seek strength, and others would follow behind him. Indeed, he sought strength, and the power he gained allowed him to fell the damnable witch who dared to stand in his way. He stood before the throne... yet he could only ponder if this was his only choice.
...such is our fate...
Aldia, the Scholar of the First Sin, stood before him. He told him that many monarchs had come and gone. The king who drowned in poison, the king who succumbed to flame, and the king who yet slumbers in the realm of ice. And yet, not one of them stood here, so close to the throne, as he did. He called him a conqueror of adversities, and demanded to learn his answer. And the Scholar of the First Sin stood against him as well, wreathed in the abhorring flames that would reduce him to mere ash. He stood his ground, blade in hand as he continued to cut him down. As the scholar fell to the earth, leaving behind only embers in his wake, he spoke that, despite losing everything, he remained in this world forevermore, and told him that, as a true monarch, the throne would accept him... but what did he desire, truly?
In the end, he turned on his heel, and walked down the path which led to the throne previously, the flames lit around him, as if lighting his path. Aldia spoke to him once again, as if saying that this choice was one that suited him... and it did. It was a farce, all of it. This cycle was nothing more but a sham. The age of man? The age of dark? Mere drivel, no more and no less. He'd have sooner allowed Nashandra to usher the age of dark than sit upon that throne... and strangely, the Emerald Herald still awaited him, face benevolent, showing only the same gaze she bore since the day he arrived before her. Slowly, he walked past her, and to the door where he entered. She trailed behind him in silence. His fingers, encased in leather, slowly reached for the helmet that sat on his head, and carefully pulled it off of him, allowing his ebony hair to fall. Before, it was so short... now, however, it reached pasted his shoulders, left tangled and messy. His violet eyes stared out into the darkness, seeing only the fading embers.
Yes... to seek a path unseen was indeed his fate... and he would gladly accept it, rather than accept being a mere pawn of fate. He would find a way... no matter what it took. The throne could be left to gather dust for all he cared for. It was nothing but a relic of the past now. Neither fire nor dark would provide peace... only a mere reprieve. Venderick and Aldia were right all along.
Now, it was only a matter of finding the path that they had not found. Perhaps, in truth... only a monarch could find it.
And perhaps... that monarch was him.
Perhaps that monarch was what little was left of the human that was once known as Lelouch vi Britannia.