A/N: A short little blurb thing that came to me after beating DS3 recently.


So much had been lost in their failed kindling.

Trinkets, cherished heirlooms, and boons from the divine had meant nothing.

The things without form had been what the flame desired. What it needed for the embers to be stoked.

Hopes.

Fears.

Dreams.

Nightmares.

Willingly, they had given them all to the flame and it had not been enough.

Memories then.

Victories and failures, everything that had been gained and sacrificed in order to achieve the right to link the fire.

Things that held little meaning or significance to anyone, but had forged them into what they were. Had guided their hand and led them down this path.

Still, it had not been enough.

Without reticence, they'd given their name. That which defined them, which separated them, what made their tragedy their own and none else's.

All of it amounted to ash.

So, when the bell tolled, they had questioned it.

They had given all to the flame and, now, it called on them. To do what they had failed once already.

Yet, even as they questioned it, they rose. Even as what they were now, nameless and naught, there was something which made them answer the call.

Pride.

Pride gave purpose.

Pride lifted them from their tomb and raised their blade for a doomed cause.

Pride would carry them through ruination.

Until they met the flame again, pride would slay man and god.