Hey! This is a one-shot belonging to the Dark Souls one-shot challenge proposed by user Warden of Lore! See more info about the challenge yourself before reading this short story here: s/12141697/1/Dark-Souls-One-Shot-Challenge

Enjoy!


Exhaustion. Not just physical, he could swear to the gods his very soul was craving rest. His ravaged armor, watery and worn out by ceaseless travels, was starting to weigh too much for his own good.

He sat on the corner, watching the snowflakes cover him slowly. The stone of the bridge which he was sitting on was cold, but soon he lost sense of the muscles from the waist down. He didn't care about what would happen to his body anymore. After all, he would just end up at the nearest bonfire, so why bother? He was tired.

His vision was getting blurry, as he was slowly losing his physical notion. He rested his head on top of the stone railing that separated him from an endless fall to the depths of the painting. Looking skywards, he started remembering all his journey. How he had fought his way out of the asylum, how he had traversed the poisonous and damp swamps of Blighttown, how he had fell for the illutionary wonders of Anor Londo. Was all of that worth his exhaustion?

He hadn't chose this path. The curse had branded him, not by choice, and was locked away against his will. Losing his memory, he was once again freed only to end up on a journey with an unclear purpouse, carrying a title he didn't even asked for. The word 'chosen' in his name had took a cynical meaning for him. Was he deserving of all these punishments, all these trials? He had the power to save the world, but couldn't even save himself from the consequences of the errors made by others.

By then he had submerged himself in a deep slumber, sort of a coma caused by the overwhelming sensations of numbness and fatigue. He had been absolutely burnt out by the time he spent dying and dying over and over for a tiny chance of escaping the endless loop which the world was stuck into, and he wished for the snowfall to wash away his thoughts.

A fading voice kept him from succumbing to the hazards of eternal winter, a warm and soft whisper, female in pitch. "To a soul left drowning in desolation, all I can do is bear pity. For if thou shalt not force a smile upon struggle, thou'll never feel fulfilled."

The undead, his consciousness already failing him, turned around to see a giant figure wrapped in woolly robes, with a tail covered in fur that wiggled through the fog. To her side, there was a much smaller silhouette, gripping tightly her mother's shawl with pale hair covering her face. At the heartwarming vision, the undead felt the small doll wriggling in his pockets, as he promised something at the verge of fainting, mouthing silently the words of his parting vow.

He reappeared at the bonfire, with a sharp pain muffling all the sounds that surrounded him. The howling wind was shaking the flame within the fire, as he was from the sudden torrent of memories flooding back into his body. He had died again, but instead of receiving this death with a frown, he decided to take the advice from the woman with a smile.

For it is our duty, as fellow undead, to face the daily endeavors of life with courage. Because a brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers fear. Because a hero is nothing more than an ordinary individual who finds the strenght to persevere, and endure in spite of overwhelming situations.

It doesn't matter if no living thing is left on this damned earth to record our achievements, because our humanity will prevail.